The Unbreakable Bond
by hermionestargazer
Summary: The war is over and Hermione has agreed to put off her plans for the future to brew potions for the hospital wing ... under the watchful eye of her formidable former Potions professor, Severus Snape. Will she live to tell the tale?
1. Chapter 1

Many thanks to my lovely betas: hells456, trekkiesara, and daylight2. I couldn't have done it without them.

No copyright infringement intended. Just a bit of fun … really!

THE UNBREAKABLE BOND

Prologue

The newborn sun was just creeping up over the treetops of the Forbidden Forest, majestic and at ease, its rays bright and pulsing with power. Streams of purest light coursed down, cutting through the haze, to the unruffled surface of the lake to warm it with gentle, golden caresses.

Every so often, a softly waving tentacle, snakelike in its grace, would arc up from the water and slap at it almost lazily. The giant squid was awake and at play.

It was a peaceful scene … idyllic, really … heightened by the early morning music of the birds, wafting through the air in delightful high-pitched trills and low warbles.

But, anyone who cared to observe need only sweep the eye over the rest of the grounds of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry to sustain a nasty shock indeed.

It had only been a week since the final battle that had, at long last, sent to oblivion Lord Voldemort, the darkest, cruellest wizard ever known to the wizarding world. But, while all good witches and wizards heaved a heavy sigh of relief at the Dark Lord's demise, there was great sorrow, too. For, many, many innocent lives had been lost or permanently crippled in the events leading to his defeat. And, Hogwarts, the scene of the confrontation between light and dark, was nigh on decimated.

The grounds proper were pitted with huge, ugly black craters and toppled, spell-shattered trees. The Whomping Willow had been completely destroyed, leaving nothing but a pile of charred and gnarled wooden flesh, as if the venerable old tree had died writhing in unspeakable agony.

The Quidditch pitch, which had seen hundreds of years' worth of comparatively light-hearted competition between rival houses, was unrecognizable. Not one goal post stood, not one square yard was left untouched by the remains of devious and deadly hexes. The stands that had once housed the cheering crowds, had been burned to the ground and could be seen smouldering even now.

The castle itself was barely inhabitable, with gaping holes in its walls, making it seem like a large, lumbering, grey giant that had been ruthlessly brought down by its horrible wounds. The great hall itself, a room that had seen so much joy and harmless frivolity, no longer had its enchanted ceiling mirroring the current weather conditions … in fact, it had no ceiling to speak of at all.

But, the most heart-breaking damage had been done to Gryffindor tower. It seemed that Voldemort, being Slytherin to the core, still held with his house's abject hatred of Gryffindor house. Therefore, almost the first act of aggression he had enacted against the castle, after he and hundreds of Death Eaters had somehow breached the wards and stormed onto the grounds, was to blast the tower completely away with a particularly devastating combined curse, thus, killing every last first- through fifth-year student hiding there.

Many, many had died that day … and, the wounded, good God, the wounded! They had been in such numbers that when it was all over the battle field from far off had looked like a writhing mass of bloodied maggots piled one on top of another.

In truth, the magnitude of the carnage had been so overwhelming that even the most seasoned fighters had been literally sickened, and some of the uninitiated had been driven mad by the sight. It had been simply too much to take in.

As the weary and heart-sore survivors had gone about sifting through the rubble to rescue the wounded, they wondered within themselves … how would anything ever be right again? More importantly, how would the wizarding world ever pull itself out of the hellish pit into which it had fallen?

Chapter 1

Glick-ding! Glick-ding! Glick-ding!

With a groan of deepest discouragement, Hermione Granger let her hand creep out from under her blanket and grope desperately toward the brain-battering sound that had dragged her from her precious slumber. Without even lifting her head from the pillows, she fumbled for the old-fashioned wind up alarm clock for a full minute, slapping at it viciously until a well-placed smack sent the small tin tormentor flying across the room. It hit Hermione's wardrobe door with a bang, thus cracking its case open and spilling out its wiry, coiled guts, and silencing it forever ... or, at least until its wrathful owner cast Reparo on it yet again.

"Oh, God!" she gasped, rolling onto her back slowly, and further encapsulating herself in her sheet and blanket. "I haven't had a decent night's sleep in days!"

Which, in fact, she hadn't. The need was so great in the aftermath of the war that she had agreed to forestall her future plans to stay on at Hogwarts to help her former professor and Britain's premier Potions master, Severus Snape, keep up with the demand for Healing potions. She had also committed herself to continuing to assist Madam Pomfrey, the school's matron, with the care of the over one hundred patients in the hospital wing.

Her days were full of constant, exhausting activity as a result, and precious little rest and recreation. The good news was that with all she had to do she hadn't much time for reflection … except in the mornings before her duties claimed her.

Hermione sighed deeply, and the terrible ache in her chest that haunted her days now returned full force. Her mind began grinding away, trying desperately to make sense of the chaos surrounding her.

Yes, the war was finally over, and the side of light had been victorious, with Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, and one of Hermione's closest friends, delivering the death blow to Lord Voldemort in a spectacular show of power.

That day, Halloween of the year following Hermione's seventh school year, had been glorious and terrible at the same time. The wizarding world was, at long last, set free from its greatest scourge and a new hope was on the horizon.

_But, so many are gone! _Hermione thought, mentally wringing her hands, and feeling her tears slipping silently down her cheeks and into the hollows of her ears. She shook her head, as much to dislodge her thoughts from her head, as to remove the errant tears.

It was to no avail, the names of the dead,_ would_ replay themselves in her mind:

Parvati Patil, Fred and George Weasley, Remus Lupin, Mad-Eye Moody, Seamus Finnegan, Dean Thomas … and the list went on and on, as Hermione's silent tears turned into sobs. In that moment, she completely succumbed to her grief.

_If only I had been there,_ she thought irrationally. She let out a decidedly bitter, albeit watery, laugh.

No, she had been exactly where she should have been, doing exactly what she had been trained to do.

Hermione had decided shortly after her sixth year ended to devote her life to the magical art of Healing. She wanted to do something life affirming, something that would bring about a better quality of life to those whose lives she was destined to touch.

Research was, of course her first love, and she believed that she could integrate that passion into her Healing work, at some point. She had in mind to eventually leave the hands-on side of Healing and just work on improving Healing practices, spells, and medicinal potions.

But, all of her plans had had to wait until after the war.

Upon learning about Hermione's aspirations, her former Head of House and current Headmistress of Hogwarts had approached her with a proposition. Would Hermione be willing to assist Madam Pomfrey in the hospital wing, while learning rudimentary Healing practices? The Headmistress had it on good authority that Lord Voldemort would soon be making his final bid for power, within a year at most. Since Hogwarts was considered to be one of the most likely spots the Dark Lord might attack, it would be well if the castle was as prepared as possible for such an eventuality.

Several of Hermione's fellow students had been pressed into service; Padma Patil, Ginny Weasley, Lavender Brown, Hannah Abbot, and even Neville Longbottom had surprisingly offered his services.

And, the Ministry of Magic and St. Mungo's had agreed to wave some of the requisite training in the Healer's program for any and all who agreed to help. After all, wasn't practical experience the best teacher?

The icing on the cake was that Hermione's return to Hogwarts meant she could finish her magical education on schedule. But, the young witch had been torn, for she had wished to go with Harry and Ron on the search for the remaining Horcruxes. She had not been able to imagine not being with them on this important mission.

She had talked to her two closest friends for hours about it. Harry had been adamant. Hermione would do well training to be a Healer, and she would be making an important contribution to the war effort. Besides, if Harry and Ron needed help that only research could yield, Hermione would be well-placed to use her considerable talents in that area. The resources in the Hogwarts library would be only an owl away, if Hermione would agree to do the job.

So, in the end she had consented to stay at Hogwarts, much to Professor McGonagall's delight.

The year had been hectic, but fruitful. Hermione and her fellow trainees had made a good showing in their studies, and had felt fairly well-prepared to face whatever came their way.

What idiots we were, she thought bitterly, as she grabbed some tissues and began mopping up her tear-stained face.

Hermione winced as she remembered the final battle. She had practically bathed in what had seemed like litres and litres of blood, had done all she could to abolish the hideous pain of the curse-afflicted, and had witnessed so many horrifying deaths as she tried to triage the endless streams of wounded, some of whom were unrecognisable because of their wretchedly disfiguring wounds.

She had worked almost three solid days without a break, though at the time each minute had seemed to run one into another and Hermione had had no concept of time passing. There had been only her aching body, her overwhelmed senses, and her continually breaking heart.

She had not slept, and had hardly taken time to shove a stale biscuit into her mouth, or to swallow a cup of tepid, sugarless tea every once in a while. It was when Madam Pomfrey had found Hermione lying half on top of the mangled body of the recently dead Parvati Patil, sobbing and gibbering incoherently that she was ordered to find a corner somewhere and rest for a couple of hours.

As these memories replayed in her mind, Hermione's sorrow was now threatening to overwhelm her completely. She shook her head again and rubbed at her weeping eyes impatiently.

"Stop!" she commanded herself, throwing her covers back forcefully. "He is waiting…" The thought of the surly Potions master pushed her thoughts into a wholly different direction. And, she found she could not resist its pull on any account.

Yes, Severus Snape was back at Hogwarts, something that Hermione had never thought would come to pass … not after what he had done.

It was unquestionable that Snape had cast the Killing Curse that had ended Professor Albus Dumbledore's life. Harry Potter, hit by Dumbledore's Freezing Charm, had been forced to helplessly witness the whole grisly scene from under his Invisibility Cloak.

It had all played out on top of the Astronomy Tower. A very nervous Draco Malfoy, who was clearly in over his head, had held his wand in a shaking hand, the jeers of his fellow Death Eaters pushing him to do as the Dark Lord had bid him. But, in the end, just as Dumbledore had surmised, he had been unable to kill the venerable old Headmaster. So, Snape, who had joined the party late, had stepped forward, a sneer of contempt on his face and had cast the fatal curse.

And, then Snape and Draco had run off like the dastardly cowards they were.

"And that, as they say, was that!" Hermione thought out loud. Sitting up and drawing her knees up to her chest, she let her head fall forward onto her crossed arms. She absently chewed at her bottom lip in contemplation. "Except it wasn't at all what it appeared … not even remotely so cut and dried."

Truth be told, she had had her doubts about Snape's guilt from the beginning. Even after hearing Harry's story, she had been unable to completely accept Snape's apparent culpability in the matter, at least not at first. Why? Because, for years she had been so sure of her Potions professor's loyalties and that certainty just wouldn't immediately yield to what appeared to be the incontrovertible evidence against him.

With the exception of her first year at Hogwarts, when she had initially believed, along with Harry and Ron that Snape was after the Philosopher's Stone, she had never wavered in her belief that Snape was on the side of the light. He had proven himself then and many times thereafter, and as far as she was concerned, he deserved to be trusted, even if he was unpleasant and sometimes cruel.

Then there was the fact that Dumbledore's faith in him had been unshakeable.

Eventually, however, it had sunk in that Dumbledore was really dead, and his death had most assuredly been at the hand of the wizard he had taken in, protected, and trusted. So, Hermione, just like everyone around her, had laboured under a terrible misconception for just over an entire year before the shocking truth finally came out.

There Hermione was, minding her own business, believing that Snape was the perfect bastard he'd always portrayed himself to be, and heaving a subconscious sigh of relief that she would never have to be in his odious presence again. And, the next moment, she was working side by side with the man, admiring his brilliance, and trusting him again with all her might.

"Well, perhaps it wasn't quite that simple," she murmured with a chuckle. She jumped out of bed and stumbled to the bathroom. She stood before the mirror above her sink and noted the puffy eyes, the bushy mane of hair, flying unkempt about her pale face; the whole look was wild, almost frightening. 

_Just like my life,_ she thought.

She sat heavily on the edge of her bath, her mind wandering to the unforgettable day she'd seen her former Potions professor again for the first time since Dumbledore's death.

It had been an early morning at the end of July after her seventh year, right around Harry's birthday. She had only just finished her training with Madam Pomfrey for the time being, and was packing to make a trip home to see her parents. She had agreed to return thereafter to be of service to the school until the war was over.

Harry and Ron had been gone for a couple of weeks, and Hermione was feeling very lonely without them—not to mention guilty that she had stayed behind.

Suddenly, the familiar 'pop' that heralded the arrival of a house-elf made Hermione turn away from her trunk. Bobbing and bowing, the elf had handed her a note from Professor McGonagall requesting her immediate presence in the Headmistress' office. Hermione had thanked the elf and, shaking with sudden apprehension, had taken off at top speed.

_Is it Harry and Ron? Dear God, are they all right? _

She had shouted the password before she was even properly standing before the gargoyle guarding the magical spiralling staircase. Hermione had barely been able to contain herself as she watched it jump away. She had taken the steps two at a time, and had paused outside the great oaken door only long enough to quickly brush off her robes and give her hair a hasty pat down, before knocking lightly.

She had not realised then that she was standing on a precipice of sorts, that the world as she had known it was about to be turned upside down. Now, as she looked back on it, she knew she would never forget that pivotal meeting as long as she lived.

_"Enter," Professor McGonagall's reedy Scottish brogue beckoned._

Hermione did as she was bid as the door magically swung open to reveal the Headmistress standing behind her great monstrosity of a desk, looking somewhat tense. And, right beside her stood none other than the imposing dark figure of Severus Snape himself.

Hermione fought to keep her face impassive, as she squashed the gasp that threatened to escape her. She met his eyes with deceptive ease, refusing to display her internal discomfiture. He swept his trademark black cloak to his sides, and crossed his arms over his chest, looking down his nose at her imperiously.

"Very good, Miss Granger," he mockingly crooned in deep, velvety tones. "You are in possession of a great deal more self-control than I had ever believed possible." His face was the very picture of disdain, his black eyes glittering coldly.

The portraits of the esteemed former Headmasters and Headmistresses all gasped in chorus at such rudeness … all except Dumbledore's portrait. He did not appear to be "at home", at the moment.

Hermione set her jaw, thrusting her hands behind her back in an attempt to hide her angrily clenched fists.

"Professor," Hermione returned evenly, in greeting. The only sign of her fury was the narrowing of her eyes.

Snape only sneered at her nastily. "Surely it has not escaped you, Miss Granger, that I am not your professor any longer. Kindly leave off the inappropriate title." He sniffed as though he had smelt something bad.

Hermione wanted to kick herself for such an obvious slip up, and her cheeks coloured with anger, much to her very great embarrassment.

"Fine," she replied with a touch more rancour than she'd meant to show, "sir!"

Her eyes locked with his in challenge. He merely snorted and turned away to address Professor McGonagall. "Much as I've enjoyed sparring with the formidable Miss Granger," he said acidly, "perhaps it would be best if you informed her why she is here, Minerva."

Professor McGonagall's eyes wandered nervously between Hermione, one of her favourite Gryffindors, and Snape, the consummate Slytherin. She looked as though she was suddenly unsure of something … as though she was engaging in something of an internal battle. Suddenly, she drew herself up, her eyes becoming quite determined, her mouth drawn into its customary thin line.

"Yes, Severus," she agreed in her usual brisk manner, "I believe you are quite right." She turned to Hermione and indicated one of the chintz chairs before her desk with an impatient wave of her hand. "Please be seated, Miss Granger. This may take some time. Tea?" she asked as an afterthought, her hand resting lightly on the silver teapot on her desk.

"No, thank you, Professor," Hermione replied somewhat abruptly, as she took her seat. She felt anxious to hear what the Headmistress had to say.

Snape, damn him, picked up on her eagerness and pounced on her like a cat stalking a mouse. "Ah, yes," he purred nastily, "no doubt the resident know-it-all can't wait to hear how the murderous Potions professor came to be back at Hogwarts, instead of rotting in a cell in Azkaban."

Another collective gasp came from the portraits. "Here, now!" Professor Dippet cried indignantly, shaking his fist in outrage. But, Hermione was not at a loss.

She glared at Snape, her face a mask of calm. "I thought you weren't a professor anymore, sir." she replied coolly, triumph in her eyes.

"How dare you!" he hissed, his tone dangerously soft. Plainly he did not like to have his own barbs thrown back at him.

"Really, Severus!" Professor McGonagall interjected with utmost exasperation. "Why must you bait her so?"

Snape only glared at McGonagall, turned his back on the entire scene, and strode over to a mullioned window, his very form exuding hostility. Hermione, meanwhile, only internally celebrated her little victory in their word war. She did not allow herself even the tiniest of smiles.

Professor McGonagall turned back to the business at hand. "Where to begin?" she said as she took her own seat at her desk with a huff.

"I suspect it would be best to begin at the beginning," Snape said dryly, from his self-imposed exile by the window. He did not turn around.

"Yes, Professor McGonagall," Hermione readily agreed. "I would like the whole story, if possible."

Snape snorted contemptuously. Both women pointedly ignored him.

"All right, Miss Granger, the beginning it is," McGonagall agreed with the air of one who has decided to plunge in, sink or swim.

Hermione shifted unconsciously in her chair, thus getting a bit closer to the desk.

"Let's start with the night that Professor Dumbledore," she hesitated, turning her head a bit in Snape's direction, "died."

Hermione watched, transfixed, as the Headmistress shuffled some parchments on her desk unnecessarily. The action gave the impression that the Headmistress wanted a bit more time to gather her thoughts.

Snape shifted uneasily and coughed, while the portraits murmured ominously. The room positively seethed with tension.

"All right," Hermione encouraged calmly, her gaze not leaving her mentor's now set face.

"Well," McGonagall continued, somewhat shakily, "it seems that the events of that night were not as straightforward as they appeared."

Hermione nodded in acknowledgement.

"There is just no delicate way to put this, Miss Granger." Professor McGonagall's hand fluttered momentarily to her forehead before falling to nervously fiddle with her tea cup. "The long and the short of it is that Severus did not murder Professor Dumbledore." 

Hermione was out of her seat as though someone had prodded her with a hot poker. "But, I thought …" she began squeakily.

"Oh, he did kill the Headmaster. Make no mistake." McGonagall eyed her seriously. "But, it was not murder."

Hermione could not stifle the gasp that fought its way out of her. "But how …" she began again. She turned wide, questioning eyes to the now ramrod straight back of the Potions master. She saw his hands grasping the stone window ledge so forcefully that his knuckles were white.

"I don't understand ..." she said, but she was stopped by Professor McGonagall's upraised hand.

"The truth, it seems, is that Severus was acting on Dumbledore's orders. He killed him because the Headmaster ordered him to do it."

Hermione sensed desperation building up inside her. She felt that if she did not receive the answers to the questions tearing through her mind right at that moment, she might implode. Her questioning eyes once again sought those of her former Head of House.

"I have known for some time, almost a year …" her voice trailed off for a moment, as the venerable old witch appeared to lose herself in memory.

Hermione waited impatiently for her to continue.

"You see, shortly after I took residence in these offices, I found Albus' Pensieve. I debated with myself as to whether I'd any right to look into it … if there was any pressing reason to do so. And, I decided that I must, being as how I was taking up the reigns, not only as Headmistress of Hogwarts, but as the head of the Order of the Phoenix, as well. I reasoned that it was just possible that Albus had stored away memories pertinent to my work in one or both of those capacities. So, I looked. " Professor McGonagall looked down at her hands which were now folded together on her desk top.

After a moment, she cleared her throat, and bestowed a small apologetic smile upon Hermione, who was still watching her with owlish eyes.

"Anyway," continued the Headmistress, "one of the memories revealed that Severus had had to make an Unbreakable Vow to Narcissa Malfoy that he would do all he could to help Draco carry out the mission the Dark Lord had given him to murder Dumbledore-- up to and including killing Dumbledore himself," the professor finished in a somewhat strained voice. "Albus felt that Severus must fulfill the vow, and ordered him to go to any extreme to do it. Severus fought Albus on this decision, wishing instead to come up with some kind of deception," McGonagall said softly. "But to no avail. Albus insisted," she finished with a sigh.

Hermione could hold in her questions no longer. "Isn't an Unbreakable Vow just that—unbreakable?" she asked timidly, softly.

"Yes, Miss Granger, it is." replied the Headmistress solemnly. It was obvious that she knew what Hermione was really asking. "And, had Severus not fulfilled his vow, he would have died. But, he was willing to do so, rather than be the one to kill Albus Dumbledore."

Hermione felt as if she had just sustained a heavy blow to her chest. She could barely catch her breath, as she found her eyes unwillingly turning to observe her former Potions professor, who was now standing very still indeed. But, other than his continued death grip on the window ledge and a slight hunch to his shoulders, Snape did not offer any other reaction to Professor McGonagall's speech.

Renewed grief over Dumbledore's death unexpectedly washed over Hermione, flowing afresh over her like a powerful, cold wave, causing her to have to fight to keep her emotional head above water. She squeezed her hands together in her lap in order to stem the tide of her feelings.

Feverishly, Hermione tried to file all the information she had just received. Snape hadn't killed Dumbledore in cold blood. In fact, he had not wanted to kill Dumbledore at all. It had all been done because Albus Dumbledore had wanted it so. 

"Why?" Hermione asked, her voice trembling a little.

Without warning, Snape spun around, robes whipping out behind him with the suddenness of his movement. He glared at her intently.

"For several reasons, Miss Granger." He strode over to her purposefully, arms clasped behind him. "Can you not think of them?"

Hermione flinched at his nearness, but her mind was instantly roused by the question.

"Well, I suppose one reason might be that your killing Dumbledore would cement your position with Lord Voldemort."

"Yes," Snape agreed mockingly, as if to imply that Hermione's deduction was elementary. "That would be one reason, but there's more."

Hermione chose to ignore his taunting, and instead furrowed her brow thoughtfully. "Perhaps Professor Dumbledore wished to protect Malfoy from committing murder," she said finally, looking to the Headmistress for confirmation. She did not dare to meet Snape's condescending gaze.

McGonagall gave her a small smile.

"Ah, reason number two," Snape said coldly. "But, you are still missing something." He leaned back on the edge of the desk and folded his arms before him, as though he was willing to wait all day for Hermione to find the answer.

She could feel his eyes boring into her, but she did not look at him. Finally, she had no choice but to admit defeat.

"I cannot think of any other reason, sir," she whispered. __

Hermione's eyes suddenly focused on her bathroom floor as she momentarily pulled herself out of her memory. She could still remember her surprise in that long ago moment when the rebuke she had been expecting from the wizard towering over her had not come.

There had been more to say and more to hear, however. And, finding that she could not help but to let the scene play itself out in her mind to completion, she let her eyes slip closed as she lost herself in thought again.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

_Snape's continued silence seemed an ominous sign to Hermione. She hung her head, not wishing to meet what she imagined must be the coldly reproving gaze of her former professor. His next speech stunned her._

"Dumbledore was already dying," Snape said, his voice low, but not at all hesitant.

Hermione's awestruck gaze was on him in an instant. She did not even attempt to hide her shock, and he did not look away.

"Sir?" she whispered and waited breathlessly for further explanation.

Snape, who was still leaning on the edge of Professor McGonagall's desk before Hermione, lowered his eyes to a point somewhere near Hermione's shoulder. She saw his eyes slide out of focus as though he no longer saw her or the room at all.

"He was ill before he and Potter went after the locket Horcrux. He had found and destroyed Slytherin's ring the summer before, but at the price of his health.

"He knew when he cast the necessary counter-curses that would make it possible to destroy the sliver of Lord Voldemort's soul that it carried, he was taking a great risk. He also knew that no other wizard was powerful enough to do it, so he took it upon himself anyway." Snape paused and Hermione saw him squeeze the edge of Professor McGonagall's desk until his knuckles bulged, but his face was unreadable.

"I was there when it happened. I watched as he worked over the ring. I saw him fly backwards when the powerful curses laid upon it threw him time and again. Finally, he broke through, but his wand arm was left withered, blackened and almost useless." Snape looked at Hermione. His gaze was hard, his jaw clenched.

"I did what I could for him with healing spells and potions. Madam Pomfrey exhausted herself looking for the best remedy, but the curse was just too obscure and powerful. It became apparent within a very few days that it would not stop with his arm. It began to creep to his shoulder and chest-- very slowly, mind you." Snape paused again, as his eyes shone malevolently.

"Lord Voldemort is nothing if not a master of the slow and painful death," he spat bitterly, as he resumed staring at Hermione's shoulder once more.

Hermione stared at him, tears stinging the backs of her eyes. "How awful!" she choked out, her voice wavering.

She let her gaze fall briefly on Professor McGonagall, who seemed to be occupied studying a spot on her desk, her jaw set and a suspicious wet gleam in her eyes.

As Snape began speaking again, Hermione gave him her full attention once more.

"When I knew Dumbledore was planning to go after the locket, I tried to convince him to let me go in his stead. I argued that he was too weak for such a rigorous adventure, but he would not hear of it. He insisted on doing it himself." Snape frowned, showing his deep disapproval of the former Headmaster's decision. "Ridiculous, stubborn Gryffindor," he muttered under his breath.

"I knew as soon as I saw him in the Astronomy Tower that he had drunk poison. I knew exactly what it was, too, and I could have helped him, if only Draco Malfoy and his band of Death Eaters hadn't chosen that night to attack Hogwarts!"

He was angry now, his voice fairly crackling with wrath. He unconsciously moved away from the desk and toward the hearth a few steps to the left of McGonagall's desk. 

There was no fire, since it was July. The fireplace looked like a great black, gaping mouth.

It looks as though it could swallow Snape up, Hermione thought incongruously, as he spun around to face both her and Professor McGonagall.

"As you know, the Headmaster and I had an agreement that I would be the one to take his life, if the time ever came that it must be done." He said the words blandly, but Hermione saw something in his eyes that belied his emotionless delivery. It clearly pained him to speak about his part in this tragedy. He turned his back to the two women, staring instead into the cavernous, empty fireplace. "As he began to succumb to the effects of the poison coursing through his system, he still had the presence of mind to beg me to fulfil my word to him …" A slight shudder appeared to run through Snape as he paused again briefly. "And so I killed him."

The words were clipped, and his voice was devoid of emotion, but Hermione could not bring herself to believe that this meant he was without feeling, not if his shudder was any indication.

Silence reigned heavily in the room for several minutes. Hermione was grateful for it. It was almost like a blanket one hides under in the night when fear and uncertainty comes in oppressing waves. She felt as though those waves were somehow kept from pounding her nearly as senseless as they might have done otherwise. This did not mean that she felt nothing. On the contrary, she felt confused, frightened, sorry, and angry all at once.

Hermione also felt surprised; surprised that part of her anger, small a part though it was, was directed at Professor Dumbledore. She knew it was completely irrational and she was definitely ashamed of it, but it was there just the same.

She felt angry that Snape had been forced into such an untenable position. Certainly the Headmaster must have known what such an assignment would mean to his spy. Besides the guilt of killing his mentor and friend, not to mention the most beloved wizard of the age, it would mean the possibility of being hunted and killed, or locked away for the rest of his miserable life in Azkaban. And, as a side bonus, it would mean the hatred and derision of the entire wizarding world. It was such a heavy burden to carry, and, though Hermione was acutely aware that she knew very little about the wizard before her, she did know that he had carried quite a few such burdens in his lifetime. Why this, too?

Hermione looked up from her musings to meet the eyes of her former Head of House. It was obvious that some of what she had been thinking had played itself out on her face, for Professor McGonagall was eyeing her with understanding.

"I assure you, Professor Dumbledore struggled mightily within himself before asking Severus to do this, Miss Granger, if what I saw in his memory is any indication. He endeavoured to make the best out of an impossible situation. Try to find it in your heart not to judge him too harshly," she said softly.

At this, Hermione furrowed her brow and gave a quick nod of her head in assent. When she looked up at Snape he was staring at her, and not with coolness or contempt. If she had had to identify it, she'd have called it curiosity and/or disbelief. Whatever his look was meant or not meant to convey it made her redden with discomfort, and she found she could not continue to keep her silence.

"You are now a wanted man, are you not, sir?" she asked quietly. His eyes widened slightly, but he did not answer.

"Not at this point, Miss Granger," McGonagall said briskly, as she stood to hand Hermione what turned out to be the previous day's Daily Prophet. _"However, Severus will be called in for questioning at some point after the war is over. Have you seen that?" she questioned, indicating the rag now in Hermione's hand._

"No, I've had little time …"

"Look at it now, please, Miss Granger," Snape commanded tersely.

Hermione turned to the paper and immediately caught the front page headline:

'SEVERUS SNAPE, SUSPECTED DEATH EATER AND WANTED MURDERER CAUGHT!'

"Oh!" Hermione gasped in puzzlement.

"Read on," Snape murmured tightly. "Aloud, please."

Hermione nodded and began.

"Captured by Ministry Aurors early this morning, was Severus Snape, former Potions professor of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Snape was wanted for suspected Death Eater activities and the murder of Professor Albus Dumbledore, former Headmaster of the school, according to the Minister for Magic, Rufus Scrimgeour.

'We are pleased to announce that the dangerous criminal, Severus Snape, has been apprehended and is now incarcerated in Azkaban and awaiting his trial before the Wizengamot,' Scrimgeour stated in a press conference shortly after Snape's capture."

Hermione dropped the paper to her lap in confusion, "But," she began, several questions fairly fighting to her lips at once.

"You see, Miss Granger," McGonagall said, her tone officious, "in Dumbledore's memory, he revealed a secret hideout that he had arranged for Severus and Draco Malfoy to flee to after his death, where they would be reasonably safe, and from which Severus could continue to base his operations as spy for the Order. In other words, he could continue to go to Death Eater meetings, so he could feed me any information that would be helpful to the side of light."

Snape took over, "As Dumbledore had surmised, I was given greater access to the Dark Lord and his plans, as a result of my perceived crime …"

McGonagall interjected again, "I went to the Ministry, per Dumbledore's plan, as gleaned from the memory, showed the officials said memory, and received permission, albeit grudging permission, to continue working with Severus." She let out a deep breath. "So, for several months, whilst living in the hideout Dumbledore had made secure for him, Severus continued to play the loyal Death Eater, attending meetings and passing all pertinent news to me.

"Then, a couple of weeks ago, Severus began to hear rumblings in the Death Eater ranks that their leader was solidifying plans to make his final move against the side of light. I asked him to wait and listen a little longer. And, a short time later Lord Voldemort himself called Severus to him and spoke about the impending attack, thus confirming the rumours.

"At that point, I felt that Severus' work was quickly becoming too dangerous to him, so I made the decision, as head of the Order to remove Severus from his duties as spy.

"Though it was clear to me that the best thing to do would be to bring Severus back to Hogwarts, I knew I would need the help and cooperation of the Ministry to carry out such a plan, so I went back to Minister Scrimgeour with the proposal that he authorise some of his Aurors to participate in a bit of a ruse." McGonagall looked undeniably amused, causing Snape to roll his eyes at her contemptuously.

"Get on with it, Minerva," he spat cuttingly. Hermione stifled a nervous giggle.

"All right, Severus!" McGonagall said with a glare. "Anyway," she continued, still maintaining her slightly excited tone as she turned back to Hermione, "the Minister and I agreed it would be propitious to arrange that Severus be 'caught' by the Aurors and brought, after a brief round of questioning, not to Azkaban, but here to the school, where he could help us prepare for the impending battle. The public was to be kept none the wiser, thus the article you just read in the Prophet.

_"For my part, I agreed to keep Severus out of sight, until after the war was over, and to make sure he didn't run off before the Aurors could question him again …" At this point, both Professor McGonagall and Snape snorted their bitter amusement._

Hermione glowered in sympathy.

"Really!" McGonagall exclaimed indignantly. "The man is insufferable! He even had the temerity to infer that the Ministry might be persuaded to 'go easier' on Severus if he does enough to ensure our success at the final confrontation! As if he's not all ready done more than that pompous, politically motivated windbag ever considered doing in this war!" The Headmistress was all but shouting now, much to Snape's apparent amusement.

"Calm yourself, Minerva," he admonished, smirk in place and eyes glittering with hilarity.

"Well, honestly!" she blustered, looking for all the world like a ruffled mother hen.

"I agree with her!" Hermione put in feelingly. "It's insulting!"

Snape levelled her with an appraising look, and this time she let her angry gaze meet his without reluctance.

"You must remember, Miss Granger, Scrimgeour has not been privy to all the evidence, as of yet. For all he knows, I am the criminal I am portrayed to be."

"Perhaps," Hermione admitted sullenly, "But, I …"

But Snape stopped her with a gracefully lifted hand. "When the Aurors brought me to him, he was still suspicious of my motives, even though he had viewed Dumbledore's memory. Thankfully, Minerva and I were able to convince him that I was not an immediate threat. Veritaserum played a large part in that," he murmured, his eyes suddenly downcast and darkening with the memory, as if he had suffered some sort of indignity.

"Under its influence, I stated that I had no intention of fleeing, and every intention of presenting myself before the authorities after the war was over to answer to any and all charges brought against me. I further promised to help in any way I could with the effort against Voldemort, and to submit to Minerva's guidance without resistance." Snape pinched the bridge of his nose and squeezed his eyes shut for a moment.

"An added benefit of this arrangement is that now Lord Voldemort believes I am sitting in Azkaban, awaiting trial, not here at Hogwarts working against him. He does not know I have been spying on him all this time. He does not think of me as a traitor. And, as he did not reveal to me the exact date of the impending attack, only that it will be soon, it is unlikely he will significantly change his plans for fear of my revealing anything too important to his enemies." He stopped here and studied Hermione impassively.

"I will have my 'day in court', I am sure, Miss Granger, but at least Scrimgeour had the sense to put it off until after the war, so that I could still render my assistance instead of wasting away in a jail cell."

At this, Hermione inclined her head in reluctant acquiescence, but her eyes still burned with resentment.

Snape stared at her again, with that strange mixture of curiosity and disbelief she had noted earlier, and she wondered very much what he might be thinking. But, the look was gone before she could analyse it further.

"At any rate, it goes without saying, that you must tell no one about my presence here at Hogwarts," he said, his tone only slightly derisive, as if to imply she might slip up somehow. "The fewer people who know, the less of a chance Voldemort will find out about it, know of my treachery, and change his plans. We do not wish to find ourselves fumbling around in the dark at this stage of the game."

Hermione ignored his tone and only nodded impatiently. "I appreciate your trusting me with such vital information," she said. "But, it does not explain why I am here, and why it was deemed I be told at all."

"Right," Professor McGonagall said, "Shall I, Severus?" She eyed Snape questioningly.

"It was your dim-witted idea in the first place," Snape said blandly, looking bored. "You might as well do the honours."

"Thank you for your kind permission," the Headmistress murmured sarcastically, as she glared at him over the rim of her spectacles, before turning her attention back to Hermione.

"According to Severus, Voldemort is planning to attack sooner rather than later," she said, a hint of tension in her voice. "I have informed Mr Potter and Mr Weasley that they must find the rest of the Horcruxes and bring them here to destroy them as soon as possible. I believe they've found all but one, is that correct?" Hermione nodded slowly.

"When they return, Severus will be training Mr Potter in Defense in preparation for his final confrontation with the, then, hopefully mortal Tom Riddle." As she took a breath, Hermione jumped in.

"Excuse me, Headmistress, but does Harry know about these training plans?" she asked a bit apprehensively.

"No," Professor McGonagall said firmly, pursing her lips. "I thought it best to wait until he got here to tell him about it."

Hermione's eyes narrowed suspiciously. Snape simply smirked.

"Yes, Mr Potter will, no doubt, be so glad to see me, won't he?" he sneered. "Let's let it be a bit of a surprise, shall we?"

"Sir, you'll be lucky if he doesn't hex you into oblivion," she replied with a wry grin.

"Indeed," Snape agreed darkly. "Well, he can try, Miss Granger. He can try."

"Oh, honestly, Severus!" Professor McGonagall snapped. "When will you get over your childish dislike of the boy?"

Snape only snorted derisively and, folding his arms over his chest, looked at her through heavily lidded eyes. She glared at him pointedly before returning her attention to an amused Hermione.

"And now, back to your part in this, Miss Granger," she continued. "I know you were planning to return home to visit your parents soon. But, I would like to request that you stay on here for additional training, and …" she glanced nervously at Snape, "to help Severus brew the many healing potions we will need when the time comes."

Hermione's jaw dropped and she blinked her eyes, stunned. "Me?" she questioned incredulously.

"Come now, Miss Granger," Snape said coldly, "false modesty does not become you. You know you have been at the top of your class in Potions since you began attending this school. This request cannot surprise you too much."

Hermione was nonplussed, so much so, that she forgot to take offence at Snape's left-handed compliment.

"What about Malfoy, sir? I assume he was with you in hiding and is with you still. Wouldn't he be better suited …" Suddenly, she noted Snape's tightly angered expression.

"Oh, he is not with you," she amended quickly.

"No, he is not," Snape replied in strained tones. "Mr Malfoy is dead. He would not allow me to convince him that he must remain hidden. He did not believe me when I told him that the Dark Lord would not be merciful in light of his failure to kill Dumbledore."

"Why would he …"

"It became apparent to me that Mr. Malfoy did not trust me at all when I awoke one morning, shortly after we went into hiding, to find him gone," Snape went on, ignoring her. "I do not know if he was headed back to the Dark Lord, or just foolishly striking out on his own and was caught. All I do know is that the next time I was summoned to a meeting, he was the night's entertainment," Snape paused, lowered his head a bit and shook it, with something like regret upon his face. "He was—put to death." he finished tonelessly.

After a brief pause, Snape continued, "It is apparent that Mr Malfoy must have believed I was loyal to the Dark Lord's cause, or he would have revealed my true position, and I would have most certainly shared his fate."

Hermione felt she might vomit, her stomach was roiling so. She knew Snape was sparing her the details, for she had read and heard enough about Lord Voldemort's dealings with those who betrayed him to have a fair idea of how Malfoy might have died.

Malfoy was, by no means, her favourite person, but the thought of his undoubtedly grisly and painful death was too much to contemplate.

"Good God!" she exclaimed softly. "He was a mere boy!"

"He made himself the enemy of the Dark Lord, Miss Granger. His age was not a factor to be considered," the former Death Eater sniped.

"Of course," Hermione countered sullenly.

Professor McGonagall shifted in her seat and eyed Hermione seriously. "So, will you help us?" she asked quietly.

"Yes," Hermione said firmly, "I will be glad to. When do we start?"

"Not too eager, are you?" Snape let one side of his mouth quirk up with a sneer. Hermione glared at him.

"I was under the impression that time was of the essence, sir," she rejoindered coolly.

"It is indeed," Professor McGonagall jumped in, standing up abruptly. "Thank you, Miss Granger, for agreeing to help. I am grateful—as is Severus, I am sure." she said, letting her dagger-like glare pierce him.

"Indeed," he said, a touch of acid in his voice. And, he made Hermione an exaggerated, but graceful bow.

"Glad to be of service, sir," she grimaced. "Prat," she whispered almost imperceptibly, as she made a show of standing and brushing off her robes as a cover.

Snape stared at her suspiciously, as though he might have heard the invective, but she only smiled sweetly at him.

"Tomorrow then, sir? I'll just go now and send a letter to my parents to inform them I have decided to remain here for the time being."

Snape's mouth was drawn into a thin line. "Tomorrow at 8 a.m." And he made as if to sweep from the room, with his usual flair. When he got to the door, he stopped, keeping his back to the two women. "Do not be late," he ground out, and was gone before Hermione could reply.

She rolled her eyes at the door and turned to Professor McGonagall to bid her farewell.

"Good luck, dear," McGonagall said meaningfully, a sliver of a smirk playing at her lips.

I'm afraid I will need it," Hermione answered grimly, and did a fair imitation of Snape's dramatic exit, robes billowing and all.

She heard McGonagall's restrained but mirthful cackle as the door closed behind her with a soft "click". 

Hermione came back to herself with a giggle. She was still seated on the edge of her bath, elbow on her knees, and chin in the palm of her hand.

"What a difference three and a half months and one cataclysmic final battle can make," she murmured as she stood stiffly to stretch her cramped legs and kinked spine.

Still in a semi-dreamlike state, she went to her sink and, turning on the tap, began preparations to wash. All the while, she thought about the difference between the dynamic that had played out in that long ago meeting with Snape, and the one that had slowly developed between them since.

Then, with a jolt, Hermione came fully back to the present time. "Oh, dear God!" she exclaimed, running out into her room to find her alarm clock, which was still shattered on the floor. "Damn!" she breathed, fumbling for her watch on the bedside table. Focusing on its tiny, time telling hands, she blanched and her stomach dropped to her toes. "I'm late!" she shrieked in panic. "He'll never let me live this down!"

She rushed about to throw on her robes, quickly scrub her face, brush her teeth, and pull a wide-toothed comb through her hair. Pausing only to check the strength of her room's personal wards, she grabbed her bag and dashed out her portrait hole, nearly tripping over her robes in the process.

"Just this once, let Snape be detained somehow …" she pleaded hopelessly with no one in particular.

_Yeah, good luck with that,_ a voice somewhere inside her taunted.

Rolling her eyes and setting her jaw in determination, Hermione ran toward the Potions room as if the back of her robes were on fire.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

As Hermione ran to meet her fate she thought, for about the hundredth time since moving to her new quarters a week ago, how glad she was to have taken up residence in the dungeons. Besides the fact that she didn't have too far to go to get to Snape's Potions room, there was the fact that the dungeons were one of the few levels of the castle that had sustained almost no damage during the final battle. This was due in large part to Snape having warded them with the strongest, most obscure protection spells possible.

Hermione's original quarters on the seventh floor had been, for all intents and purposes, left uninhabitable—unless one didn't mind sleeping in a room that happened to be missing one entire wall, along with the bathroom, and whose interior was filled with broken, burnt, and hex-splintered furnishings.

After having had one look at what was left of her rooms when the dust had settled, Hermione had immediately known that they couldn't be repaired, magic or no magic, in under a month. And, there had been other areas of the castle which must be attended to before private rooms could be considered a priority; such as the Entrance Hall, whose door had been literally blown to bits, and the Great Hall, with its obliterated enchanted ceiling.

Of course, the grounds-wide wards, which Voldemort had somehow dismantled, had had to be re-cast before anything else was done. It was, as yet, unknown how many Death Eaters had made it through the battle alive and uncaptured. Professor McGonagall had not wished to leave Hogwarts vulnerable to further attack.

As Hermione continued to scurry hurriedly toward the now visible doors to Snape's dungeon room, she wondered why she was thinking of all of this now, just when she was about to face Snape, who would undoubtedly be very displeased she had kept him waiting.

_Oh, well,_ she thought with a mental shrug, _it's better than making myself a nervous wreck thinking of his reaction._

When she was no more than one hundred feet from the heavy double doors leading to her destination, she could feel Snape's powerful, multi-layered personal wards reading her magical signature and receding with her approach. Finally, Hermione found herself resting a slightly shaking hand lightly on the doors. She paused to steady her breathing and collect her wits, before entering to confront the volatile wizard to whom she must now make her excuses.

"Well, girl," came Snape's embittered velvety tones through the barrier between them, "are you coming in? Or, will you linger outside, wasting even more of my precious time?"

Hermione let her head drop and her body sag against the door in defeat. "Time to give a pound of flesh …" she murmured through pursed lips.

Suddenly, the doors swung open with a "whoosh", and Hermione stumbled gracelessly into the room and fell to her hands and knees at the feet of her very put out former professor. He stared down at her, black eyes blazing with undisguised anger.

"No need to grovel, Miss Granger," he said with a nasty smile, as he peered down at her condescendingly. "A simple apology will suffice."

Hermione hung her head for a moment, her knees and the palms of her hands throbbing from her impact with the stone floor. She gathered her resolve and jumped to her feet.

"No, no! Thanks for you concern, sir, but I'll be fine!" she spat, as she dusted herself off and glared at him furiously.

"Such ridiculousness!" he sneered. "You're not hurt. You'll get no coddling from me!"

"Too right, I won't!" she cried. "And, I don't expect it, nor do I want it!" Hermione assured him heatedly.

Snape stared at her, momentarily non-plussed. There was a hint of amusement in his eyes. "Ah," he purred, moving around her sinuously, and peering at her coldly, "the lioness has some bite to her—and claws to boot." He paused to eye her menacingly. "If I were you, I'd retract those claws. After all, you are the one who is late."

Hermione simply sniffed carelessly and plucked at the cuff of her robe with feigned indifference, thus allowing her to eye her watch. "Only by five minutes," she said airily.

Snape swept toward her, invading her comfort zone by leaning in so his face was only inches from hers. "In case you've not noticed, Miss Granger, the hospital wing is full of those who have given their utmost fighting in the final battle. Some of them are very ill, indeed," he said in low deliberate tones. "For them, every minute counts."

He pulled away, with one lingering, pointed look, glided around her and headed to his storage closet to collect the necessary ingredients for that day's brewing.

Hermione felt her stomach drop and her face flush with shame. _He's right,_ she thought, the ire suddenly seeping right out of her. Those patients and Madam Pomfrey were counting on her to help and she had behaved irresponsibly.

Picking up what was left of her dignity, she hurried to follow Snape, when another thought hit her, making her feel even more miserable.

Harry and Ron were counting on her. Both of them were currently occupying beds in the hospital wing themselves. Harry was recovering from severe magical depletion and some rather nasty cuts and bruises. His weakness was so debilitating that for a time he could hardly feed himself. But, he had been lucky compared to Ron.

To no one's surprise, Ron had really laid down his life in battle. He had protected Harry with all he had, effectively making himself a human shield. As a result, he had taken several unpleasant curses. But, he had fought at Harry's side until he had literally dropped from exhaustion and pain—and, then he had forced himself up to fight again.

The curse that had finally stopped him had been a vicious "Sectumsempra"—the cutting spell. It had nearly killed him, as it was no doubt intended to do. Hermione had been on hand when he was brought in. She had been terrified to see his condition. And, Madam Pomfrey had thought he wouldn't make it, at first.

Mr and Mrs Weasley, Ginny, and Hermione had hovered over Ron anxiously for twenty-four hours, waiting for him to awaken. Then, when he'd had the presence of mind to ask about the rest of his family, they'd all stood by in quiet desperation as he fell apart at the news that Fred and George had both been lost in battle.

Ron had been extremely fragile for a couple of days after that. Hermione knew he felt keenly the absence of Harry, his best mate. But, Harry had been in a coma at the time, and could be of no help to his beleaguered friend.

_Good God! How could I have let my personal battles with Snape cloud my thinking!_ Hermione berated herself.

"If you are quite finished daydreaming, Miss Granger, I could use a bit of help just now with these ingredients," came Snape's bland, if muffled voice from inside the storage closet.

Hermione shook herself and scurried toward the voice. The storage closet was not large. It was dark, musty, and smelled of earth, plant-life, and bitter herbs. Hermione loved it.

But, though it was large enough for one person to work in, it was decidedly too cramped for two. So, Hermione stood outside the door, as Snape wordlessly handed her the aconite, Billywigs, and snake's fangs.

_Ah, Skele-Gro today, is it?_ Hermione chewed her lip guiltily for a moment, as Snape filled her arms.

"Is there something wrong, Miss Granger?" he asked emotionlessly, as he turned back to his work.

"No, sir," she began uncertainly. "Only, I wanted to apologise."

Snape let one smooth, black eyebrow cock up at her. "Indeed," he intoned smoothly.

"Yes, sir," she said, reddening under his scrutiny. "You were right—back there," she continued, looking him in the eye. "It was irresponsible of me to come in late. I'll do my best to be here on time in future."

Snape stood eyeing her for a moment, as if he was trying to detect any insincerity in her words. Then, he smirked, "Will wonders never cease?" he mocked. "Surely, my ears deceive me … Hermione Granger, know-it-all of Gryffindor House, apologising to me and admitting she is wrong, all in one morning?"

Hermione felt the blood rush to her cheeks, and her heart pounded with outrage. She stared at him fixedly. "You don't give an inch, do you, sir?" she stated with cold, hard fury.

Snape's eyes gleamed, a small, self-satisfied smile on his face. It was apparent he was spoiling for a fight.

_Well, he won't get it from me,_ she thought savagely. And, she spun around on her heel and stomped off, bearing her burden of potion ingredients carefully before her.

She was gently unloading the bottles onto her workbench when she felt Snape's presence, rather than saw him. He had a habit of lurking around behind her like that after an argument—of which there had been many, and usually she was made so uncomfortable by it, that she couldn't help but attempt a conversation. But now, anger was burning so ardently within her heart that she determined to keep her mouth shut.

_Nasty git!_ she thought acidly. _I'll just ignore him. I can brew Skele-Gro without his help, anyway._

So, ignore Snape she did, and he did not attempt to speak to her. Finally, after fifteen minutes of awkward silence, Hermione felt him move away. She breathed an unconscious sigh of relief and thankfully lost herself in her work.

Three hours later, she began decanting her perfectly brewed potion. Though she could still feel her anger bubbling inside of her, she had not allowed it to impede her performance. A sense of accomplishment lessened her wrath a bit—but not by much.

After the potion was properly stored, she began to clean her workbench. It was the work of a few minutes as she employed cleansing spells in the cleaning of her cauldron, knives, mortar and pestle, and ladles.

Since she was always very careful about not spilling the precious ingredients of any of the finished potion in decanting it, her bench only needed a light cleansing spell to make it ready for the next day's brewing.

As Hermione worked, she noticed that all was silent except for the murmured spells and the clinking of her own tools and vials as she packed up her personal potions kit. Then, she became very aware that she was being watched. She could, in fact, feel Snape's eyes boring into her back, watching her every move.

_He's just trying to unnerve me,_ she thought, moving with slow deliberateness, as if to show him he wasn't getting to her.

When she was finished with the clean-up and packing up, Hermione lost no time in flinging her bag over her shoulder and heading toward the door. She did not look at Snape, but as soon as she laid a hand on the door handle, his voice stopped her.

"Miss Granger, if I might have a moment of your time?" he said casually. Hermione rolled her eyes and turned back to face him. He was seated at his desk, not thirty feet from her. He looked a bit uncomfortable, for all he was trying to project otherwise.

"Yes, sir?" Hermione questioned, barely keeping her tone civil. The tension in the room was thick as pea soup. She fully expected a lecture of some sort. She did not expect …

"It has come to my attention that I was a bit harsh with you before," he said, keeping his expression neutral. "And, I want you to know I appreciate your sentiments," he finished in tightly clipped tones.

That said, Snape picked up his quill and resumed writing as though Hermione was not even there. Hermione could not keep her jaw from dropping a little, as she continued to stand rooted to the ground. She wanted to reply, but found she could not formulate a sentence, so great was her shock.

Snape looked up at her, his obsidian gaze full of mock wonderment. "Was there something else?" he asked.

"N-No, sir," Hermione stuttered, blushing and letting her eyes fall to her shoes.

"Then you may go, Miss Granger," he said matter-of-factly, as he dipped his quill in the inkwell. "I will see you tomorrow morning, eight o'clock sharp." He did not look at her again.

"Yes, sir."

And, hiding away her surprised delight, she turned and strode through the doors.

Hermione's mind was twisting itself in knots, as she walked slowly away from the lab and headed in the direction of the Great Hall for lunch.

"That was … strange," she breathed.

Had Snape really apologised to her? Well, it wasn't really an apology, per se. But, it was, she imagined, as close as the proud Severus Snape ever got to a real apology.

In the three and a half months that Hermione had been assisting him, he had done such a thing a total of … well, all right, never!

That had to mean something, but what? Reviewing the whole scene in her head, Snape's words, his actions, and facial cues … his eyes … Well, there just wasn't much to go on, except the heretofore unheard of semi "apology" itself.

She thought back to the immediate scene after the difficulty itself. What about when he had been standing behind her those few minutes? Had he been looking for an opportunity to make things right with her then? Or, had it been when she'd felt him watching her as she cleared away her workspace?

Hermione had reached the end of the corridor and began slowly climbing the cold, stone steps leading to the first floor and the Entrance Hall, her mind whirring at a fast and furious pace.

Was it possible Snape's behaviour this morning indicated a shift in his perception of her? She was under no delusion about his thoughts of her three and a half months prior to today. He had, she could not doubt, disliked her, at the very least. He had only given her a grudging acknowledgement of her intelligence and abilities. He certainly had not thought of her as anything but his lowly assistant. Had that in some way changed?

Thinking back over the months since she had been working with him she saw that the nature of their acquaintance had, indeed, been subject to a slow but sure evolution of sorts.

When Hermione had first set foot in his rooms, Snape had refused her help with anything but the most rudimentary of tasks. He had spoken very little to her, and when he did speak it was to instruct her with the most cutting and degrading words possible. He had watched her like a hawk, criticising her every move. And, if she dared to voice her displeasure at such uncalled for treatment, the exasperating man would launch into a tirade so caustic and so full of fiery vitriol that Hermione's eyes would water.

Yes, there had been many a morning when she could not get out of there fast enough.

Hermione now found herself pausing at the top of the steps she'd been climbing. Her breath was coming in short pulls, her muscles aching with the effort, her heart thumping against her chest.

_Heavens!_ she thought, as she broke into a cold sweat. _I must be really tired. I shouldn't be this winded just from climbing a few steps._

For the last few days, Hermione had noticed she was fighting a bit of a cold, but it was nothing more than that she was sure. She knew she should rest more for her health's sake, but there was so much to do and so little time in which to do it. She didn't have time to eat properly, much less actually go to her room and rest.

"I just can't be ill right now," she told herself firmly. "So, that's that!"

But, her breathing wasn't slowing down, and her chest hurt her, so she sat down on the top step for a bit of rest. While she sat, she let her mind compare those horrendous early weeks with Snape to his treatment of her now.

Certainly, he was no less sharp-tongued, as a general rule. But, he didn't seem to find it necessary to monitor her every move anymore. In fact, just as he had done today, he usually left her to brew alone, whilst he worked on something else.

That wasn't to say he ignored her, for she could recall many times in the last several weeks that he had pulled a stool over to her workstation and spoke to her about an article in Potions Monthly magazine, or about some of his recent research. Sometimes he had even asked her opinion of his methods, or about a particular ingredient he was thinking of adding to one of his test potions. Sometimes, she had even had had an idea that he was about to ask her to come in after hours and help him with his work.

Now, when he felt he must instruct her, his tone was no longer mocking or despising. He seemed to be honestly trying to impart what he knew to build up Hermione's ever growing base of potions knowledge. There had even been times, when she and Snape worked together on a more complicated potion, that Hermione had got the impression that he considered it a pleasure rather than an odious duty.

To be sure, he still had his outbursts and his moments of sheer cussedness, but Hermione was well able to take those moments in stride, if he didn't push it too far, like he had that morning. And, more and more, she saw those moments as sparring matches between them—perhaps less an opportunity for him to hurt her or put her down and more a bit of a battle of wits between two comparable minds. Of course, she had yet to win one of these battles.

Unless … Hermione's eyes widened with sudden realisation, and she felt a wave of pleasant shock rise up inside her.

Had she won today? She stood up excitedly, forgetting her weakness of only moments before. Of course she had! She had refused to engage him, and had soundly ignored him all morning, resulting in enough discomfiture on his part to compel him to "apologise".

In previous such scenarios, he had said nothing, but had stood silently about waiting for her discomfort with the silence to force her to speak first.

"Childish, but effective most of the time," she said with a grin. "But, not today!" She laughed.

With that, she jumped a little in celebration, balling her hands up in an effort to contain her joy. "That's just brilliant!"

She was certain of it now. Perhaps she and Snape were not exactly colleagues and certainly not friends, but at some point, and on some level, Severus Snape had learnt to accord her some respect. And, since Hermione admired and respected him for his skill with potions, that knowledge meant something to her.

It felt wonderful to know that she had finally earned his approval. It did not occur to her to wonder exactly why she desired his approval. And, she certainly didn't trouble herself by questioning why she felt so ridiculously happy about receiving said approval in whatever measure Snape chose to bestow it upon her. She just wished to bask in the sunny warmth of knowing Snape had finally realised she wasn't a complete "dunderhead".

As Hermione, having recovered her breath, all but skipped light-heartedly to her lunch with Ginny, Snape sat at his desk brooding over the puzzling scene that had occurred between him and his assistant. He was not so much perplexed by Miss Granger's reaction to his out of character speech as by his feeling he must make such a speech in the first place. What on earth had compelled him, the aptly named bastard of the dungeons, to come so near to apologising to that bushy-haired chit of a girl?

He had pulled it off with the starkest of phrases, that was true. But, it was unlikely that Miss Granger could be counted upon not to recognise his words for what they were—namely a capitulation. He could not remember a single other time in their previous combative interactions when he had fallen to her like that.

After all, he had certainly fought her before. Verbally skewering her had been something of a pleasant pastime to him in the past … a reward for being forced to work in such close proximity to her in the first place. And, Miss Granger had always given as good as she got anyway. So, what had changed? What had been so different about this confrontation, and why had he felt such a strong compulsion to "fix" things between them?

She had ignored him, instead of fighting back as she had always done in the past, and that he found he just could not easily bear. So, he had felt obliged to hover behind her in hopes of making her so nervous she would have to talk. That tactic had always worked like a charm.

"No pun intended," he chuckled humourlessly, as he dropped his quill and rubbed his red-rimmed eyes.

But, she had not responded to his silent, intentionally oppressive presence at all. In fact, she had ignored him so soundly that he had had no choice but to move away in red-faced embarrassment. Had her actions been intentional, or had she just been so hurt and/or angry that she could do no other? And, why did he suddenly care what the irritating girl's motives were? More importantly, why did he care what she thought in any event?

Snape furrowed his brow in consternation, as he absently fidgeted with his quill.

There could be no doubt the girl was—intelligent, and possessed of a ready mind. She was an—adequate assistant—teachable, quick. He could even admit to the fact that her presence had, in recent times, become less odious to him.

Snape sniffed at this thought and tossed his quill down again. Suddenly, he felt unaccountably angry. He was not accustomed to examining his thoughts and feelings so closely. It was not a comfortable process to him, in the least.

"This is nonsense!" He scowled. "I have spent …" he narrowed his eyes at the small antique clock gracing his desk, "a full quarter of an hour contemplating that girl and her incomprehensible behaviour! Well, I'll not waste another millisecond on such worthless musings!"

At that, he determinedly grasped his much abused quill and savagely thrust it into his inkwell. Then, he spent the next several minutes staring at his parchment with thoughtful, glassy eyes.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Upon reaching the Entrance Hall, Hermione felt she was entering another world entirely. She had almost forgotten that the marble staircase leading to the upper floors was now a pile of broken and jagged stone. There was rock dust still floating on the air, coating everything in a fine powder, including the floor, which had a flurry of footprints imprinted on it. The front doors were just recently replaced, and the new doors looked out of place, like a fresh scar on old skin.

Making her way through the typical lunch time throng, Hermione found herself at last stepping into the Great Hall. Automatically, her eyes turned upward to observe the place where the ceiling should have been. It was strange to know that only a strong Shielding Charm now stood between the Hall and the great outdoors.

Looking about the room, which was crowded with volunteers that had come to repair the damage to the castle and grounds, she searched for Ginny. Hermione found the vibrant red-head rather quickly, although Ginny did not immediately see her.

Hermione's heart welled with compassion at the sight of her friend, seated amongst the strangers and mechanically eating her meal with a vacant expression on her pretty, freckled face.

As far as Hermione was concerned, Ginny was an enigma. The fact that she had stayed on at Hogwarts after the deaths of Fred and George made Hermione both proud of her friend and a little uneasy. Mr and Mrs Weasley had, at first, been resistant to the idea. Understandably, they had wanted all their remaining children as near to them as possible in that terrible time; especially their youngest daughter, who was something of a family favourite.

But, Ginny had tearfully insisted that she couldn't be spared from her work in the hospital wing. And, she had further argued, she did not like to leave Ron, who would need to stay and recover from his terrible injuries. It had been this argument that had finally convinced the heartbroken parents to let Ginny stay.

Privately, Hermione felt that her friend had insisted on continuing her work as much to keep herself too busy to think than for either Ron's sake or because Madam Pomfrey needed all the extra help she could get.

Hermione had only seen Ginny cry on the day of the battle, when the all ready lifeless forms of Fred and George had been brought to the hospital wing on magically floating stretchers. While the rest of the family had shed the copious and cleansing tears denoting healthy sorrow at the memorial service, Ginny had sat, all wide blue, tearless eyes and pale face, her lips a thin, controlled line. Watching as her friend kept such a tense hold on her emotions had made Hermione squirm inside. It did not seem at all natural.

Compound the lack of tears with the fact that Ginny avoided talking about her brothers' death with anyone who tried to broach the subject, and Hermione had begun to fear that Ginny was headed for an emotional break down of some kind, if only from a lack of proper expression of her sorrow. It seemed to her that it would all have to come to a head sometime.

She felt that Ginny was running from the inevitable, but Hermione couldn't imagine trying to breach the imposed silence on the subject that her friend insisted on maintaining. She just did not feel qualified to handle the storm of emotional pain she knew Ginny carried inside, once it finally broke through the tight control by which it was kept in.

_Maybe one day_ …

"Hermione!" Ginny, who had finally noticed her friend, broke through Hermione's thoughts jarringly.

Hermione smiled ruefully and hurried over to greet her friend and lunch mate. "Hello, Ginny," she said as she let her bag down to the floor and slipped into a seat opposite her friend. "How are you?"

Ginny's eyes shadowed in an instant, and she cast them down, her smile turning somewhat forced. "I'm fine," she murmured.

"Good," Hermione said softly, as she gently patted her friend's hand. But, Ginny only slipped her hand out from under the tender ministration, and faced her friend with a now falsely cheerful grin.

"How was your morning?" Ginny asked, her eyes pleading with Hermione to move past the uncomfortable moment.

_Time to let her off the hook … again,_ she thought sadly.

Hermione smiled tentatively at first, until she suddenly remembered the strange incident in the dungeons with Snape. Unconsciously, her eyes began to sparkle, and her smile grew wide and somewhat mischievous.

"You look like the cat that swallowed the canary," Ginny said, now genuinely grinning as she scooped mashed potatoes onto her plate.

"You'll never believe what happened today!" Hermione enthused. "Just wait until I tell you!"

Ginny was all open ears and wide eyes, as Hermione recounted her eventful morning in the Potions room. "Ginny, I couldn't help but conclude that Snape didn't like my ignoring him." She paused thoughtfully. "I can't imagine why, when he has told me time and again to 'cease my senseless babbling'." With this, she lowered her voice and altered her speaking cadence in a fair attempt at capturing Snape's condescending tone.

"You do that well!" Ginny giggled. Hermione's eyes were bright with excitement as she poured herself a goblet of pumpkin juice.

"Perhaps Snape fancies you, Hermione," Ginny put forth with careless nonchalance, her eyes searching her friend's face as though wishing to catch the first reaction to such an unexpected statement. 

Hermione, who had been lifting her goblet to her lips, stopped mid-air, sloshing juice from her goblet onto her plate, her face frozen in horror. "You must be joking, Ginny!" she spluttered.

"Must I?" Ginny said, calmly buttering a roll.

Hermione rolled her eyes and threw up her hands dramatically. "Of course you are!" she said firmly. "Snape would no more think of me in that way, than …"

"Oh, please, Hermione," the red-head tossed her long locks behind her shoulders impatiently, "the two of you do spend an inordinate amount of time together …"

"Working, Ginny. We-are-working!"

"Of course you are! No one disputes that, least of all me. My point is that it's not unthinkable that Snape should find himself forming an attachment to you. He's a lonely man, Hermione." Hermione pursed her lips and gave a defiant little shake of her head.

"It's true!" Ginny persisted. "And, the two of you have quite a bit in common, don't you?"

"Do we?" Now Hermione looked and felt a bit shell-shocked.

"Come now," Ginny chided, with a sly smile. "Surely you've realised that! You're both intelligent, and fond of reading and research. You both enjoy working with potions, and prefer quiet and solitude to a busy social life."

"But, he's at least twenty years older than I am," Hermione squeaked. "He couldn't possibly see me as anything but a child."

Ginny pushed that argument away with a dismissive gesture of her hand. "Nonsense! That doesn't matter a bit. You're probably every bit as mature as any witch twice your age. You are an old spirit, Hermione. You know you are!" Here, Ginny paused to eye her exasperated friend critically, one delicate finger gently tapping thoughtfully on her chin. "You know," she continued, "the more I think about it, the more I think you and Snape are perfect for one another."

Hermione's jaw dropped and her eyes widened to the size of dinner plates. "I can't believe you just said that, Ginny Weasley! Tell me this is all your idea of a very bad joke!" She all but begged.

"Hermione …" the younger girl began, as if trying to calm an overexcited child.

"Ginny, Snape is difficult and unpleasant in the extreme, in case you've forgotten! Not to mention the fact that he dislikes practically everyone around him, especially me!"

"That is ridiculous. If he disliked you so much, he wouldn't have bothered with almost apologising to you today, would he?"

Hermione gave every impression of giving up, from the deep sigh to her sagging shoulders. "I don't pretend to understand _anything_ about the inner workings of the mind of Severus Snape."

Ginny was eyeing her again, this time with suspicion. "Well, in any case, I think you had better put some thought into what you might be feeling about him."

"What do you mean?" Hermione asked warily.

"Just this," Ginny said slowly, as though taking time to choose her words very carefully. "In all your protestations against a possible relationship between you and Snape, I've not heard you once say that you don't care for him." Hermione blanched, and started to reply. "Ah, ah, ah!" Ginny sing-songed smugly. "Too late!

Hermione's mouth snapped shut, as she levelled her so-called friend with a death glare. But, Ginny's eyes were now fixed on the Hall's double doors. "Speak of the devil," she whispered.

Hermione let her chocolate gaze follow Ginny's ice blue one. Snape was sweeping into the room, scowl firmly in place, and his eyes snapping at everyone who dared to meet his glance. But, when his eyes met Hermione's he gave her the tiniest of nods before he strode to the staff table.

Ginny smirked, "See?" she murmured taking note of her friend's flushed face and lowered eyes.

"Stop it," Hermione ground out through clenched teeth.

Ginny only giggled, as Hermione stood abruptly. "I've got to go," she said, grabbing up her bag with a frantic air.

"Wait a minute," Ginny said. "You've not eaten and I would like to go with you, but I'm not finished either."

But, Hermione had all ready grabbed up half a roast beef sandwich and headed toward the doors. She was used to eating on the run these days.

"All right," Ginny called after her, "see you in the hospital wing in a few minutes."

Hermione did not reply. All she could think of was getting out of the Great Hall—away from her friend's insistent musings and Snape's unwelcome obsidian gaze.

Unbeknownst to Hermione, Snape's flinty eyes were following her hurried progress out the Hall. He wondered what would cause his illustrious assistant's hasty departure. Was it only by chance that her retreat had coincided with his entrance?

Hermione was almost to the hospital wing before her aching chest and pained breathing reminded her to slow down. "I can't think about this right now," she commanded herself in a sharp undertone, viciously slicing the air with the hand still holding the now ragged sandwich for emphasis. She leaned wearily against the wall just to the side of the wing's doors to catch her breath. "I've got a job to do, "she continued to coach herself. "And, I just _refuse_ to think about this right now!"

Taking a deep, calming breath, she pushed through the doors, only to run squarely into a warm, firm barrier. Falling back, she gasped, "Sorry, I—oh, hello, Neville!" she cried upon recognising the tall, pudge-faced boy precariously balancing a tray full of empty potions vials. "Here let me help you with that," she said, recognising the accident about to happen. She steadied her co-worker with one hand and grasped one side of the tray with the other.

"Thanks, Hermione," Neville said with a toothy grin. "I've not dropped anything, today. Wouldn't want to want to break my winning streak."

Hermione smiled at him fondly, "No, definitely not. Are you off at one, then?"

"Yes, just doing the afternoon doses. I've been here since six a.m. What time is it now?"

Hermione looked at her watch. "Almost 12:15."

"You're early then. Come to see Harry and Ron?" he asked, as he steadied one of the vials.

"Yes," she said, suddenly sober. "How are they today?"

"Improving," Neville said, his face showing his concern. "Harry is recovering rather well, really. He is getting much stronger. Ron is … well, you know … struggling a bit, but I think it helps that Harry's been moved to the bed next to his. And, I know your visits are important to him, too." Neville colored a bit, a shy smile spreading across his boyish face. "He's always asking when you'll be in."

Hermione felt her heart lurch uncomfortably. "Well, I'm glad to help any way I can," she laughed nervously. "See you later, Neville." she said warmly and walked away with a wave, heading deeper into the hospital wing.

The hospital wing was really one long corridor-like ward. One whole side of it was dominated by the familiar mullioned windows reaching from ceiling to mid-wall, flooding the space with bright sunshine. Patient beds lined each wall on either side of the corridor. Some were partitioned off from prying eyes, while others were without such contrived measures.

All the furniture in the wing— from the bed frames, visitor's chairs, bedside tables, and privacy partitions were stark white, providing a sharp contrast with the old, grey stone walls and the carpetless floors. All that crisp brightness conveyed a feeling of sterility, rather than comfort.

As Hermione's heels click-clacked down the walk way between the rows of beds she let her eyes fall on her patients, greeting those who were awake with an encouraging smile and passing silently by those who were not.

Finally, she reached a partitioned area behind which Harry and Ron were housed. She knocked on the metal frame of the partition. "Is everyone decent?" she called cheerily.

"Come in, Hermione," came the subdued voices of Harry and Ron in unison. She stepped around the barrier and smiled at her two closest friends. 

She felt her breath catch at sight of the two normally active men, lying in weak repose before her. They were both pale, their faces lined with pain and exhaustion, but smiling with pleasure at seeing her.

"How are we today?" Hermione asked. Harry rolled his eyes.

"'We' are fine, and you sound like Madam Pomfrey." Ron nodded with a half-grin on his face.

"Sorry," Hermione mumbled, coloring with embarrassment. Both men chuckled.

"At least you don't fuss nearly as much as her," Ron continued, with a grimace of disgust. "She can be right annoying."

Hermione eyed him with mock severity, as she pulled a chair from the wall to a spot between the two beds and sat down wearily. "She means well, Ron," she chided, reaching out to both her friends and took one of each of their hands in her own.

Ron nodded, "I know, and she is a good sort, really," he said by way of apology.

"How are you both feeling?" Hermione asked, eyeing them somewhat clinically.

Ron was bandaged from neck to knees, with healing balm covering the stripe-like wounds from the cutting spell he'd suffered. Hermione knew he must be in considerable pain, despite the pain reducer potions he was given every four hours.

Harry, on the other hand, looked a bit tired, but Hermione was glad to note that he was sitting up and had been apparently reading Quidditch Today, which he now had let fall to his lap.

"Better," Harry answered, his pale face cracking into a more "Harry-like" grin than she'd seen since he'd been brought to the ward.

"How about you, Ron?" Hermione asked him gently, as she squeezed his hand.

Ron's smile was tired but pleased, and his eyes held something in them that made her want to turn away in sudden discomfort. "I'm always better when you're here," he said softly. His thumb began rubbing circles on Hermione's palm. She lowered her eyes in confusion.

"Come on, you two," Harry said in mock exasperation, "have a little discretion." Hermione giggled nervously, and withdrew her hand from both Harry's and Ron's grasp.

Suddenly, Harry turned serious. "How are you, Hermione? You look exhausted."

"I'm fine," she replied. "Only, there's so much to do. Remember, I'm brewing potions, as well as working here in the hospital."

"I, for one, have not forgotten," Ron said a bit bitterly. "Hermione, I think you are working too hard." Harry nodded in agreement.

"It's just for a time, Ron," Hermione said placatingly, as she looked somewhat pleadingly at both men. "And, think of all the training I'm getting! The credit in hours I'm getting toward my Healer's license means I'll have less to do later. Besides, it's all got to be done, in any case …" she finished lamely.

Ron only narrowed his eyes disdainfully. "Well, it can't be easy working with Snape. He'd give you enough stress all on his own."

Harry chuckled wryly, as though he knew well the truth of Ron's statement. And, Hermione had no doubt that he did.

The blow up that had taken place when Harry and Ron had returned from the Horcrux hunt to find out that, not only was Snape at Hogwarts but had plans to train him, had gotten very ugly, just as Hermione had known it would.

Professor McGonagall, who had apparently had some idea about how the meeting would go, had insisted that it happen in the Room of Requirement, presumably so that the damage could be contained more easily.

Hexes had flown fast and furious from the moment Harry had laid eyes on his former professor and for a good ten minutes thereafter, before Snape could get close enough to Harry to physically subdue him and take his wand. Then, the two angry wizards had shouted at each other for another half an hour, sometimes so loudly that the windows shook.

Ron had not been invited to attend the meeting, mainly because Professor McGonagall didn't want Snape to have to defend himself against two irate wizards. But, Hermione had been there as a show of support for Professor McGonagall's decisions to trust Snape and to talk to Harry when he was calm, in the hopes that he would accept Snape as his trainer.

Hermione knew she was unlikely to ever forget the look on Harry's face when he realised that she was there to talk him into trusting Dumbledore's killer. She had had to do some very fast talking, then. She had had to be calm, but stern until she got through to him, which she somehow managed to do after about two more hours of Harry's shouting, cursing, and dire threats. Through it all, Snape had kept quiet, his customary sneer on his face. Professor McGonagall, too, had given her former students a wide berth; only interrupting quietly when a point was brought up that only she could clarify.

Finally, Harry had begrudgingly consented to Snape's training. Hermione knew he had agreed only because he believed beyond a shadow of a doubt that no one could prepare him more thoroughly for the task of fighting in the final battle and killing Voldemort than Snape could, though he would rather die than admit it.

The training sessions between Snape and Harry had been horrifying to watch, with the two wizards working out of their hate for one another, and therefore coming at each other with as much malice as if they really were enemies on opposing sides. Snape had insisted on throwing almost everything he had at Harry from the start, and Harry, out of sheer stubbornness had refused to admit defeat, even when he lay in a ragged heap, torn and bleeding.

Day after day, the two went at each other, and Harry got faster, stronger, and more confident in his power and ability. Gradually, he began to be less and less antagonistic to Snape, taking his instruction with something like passive interest and eventually, outright enthusiasm. In return, Snape began to show his pupil a subtle respect, foregoing the taunts that had previously peppered his every communication with Harry.

The day Harry actually successfully blocked one of Snape's well-placed curses; the teacher had praised the student with a low-toned, "Well done." Hermione had watched as Harry's cheeks reddened, a small smile playing at his lips.

She had breathed a sigh of relief, "Perhaps they won't kill each other, after all."

Though their practice duels continued to be quite intense, it was clear to all who observed that the two skillful and determined wizards had learned to derive a certain enjoyment from them.

When Snape was reasonably sure Harry was as ready as he could be to face the battle that lay ahead, he began training Ron to guard his friend, while keeping himself alive to tell about it. Ron, though he could admit to Snape's genius on the battle field, felt no less rancorous toward him, and didn't hesitate to let it show. He never did learn to respect Snape as Harry had.

_No, there will never be any love lost between Snape and Ron,_ she thought as she considered her next words to her friends carefully.

"I won't say he is easy to work with," Hermione said slowly. Harry laughed again.

"Ha! I'll bet not!" Ron answered derisively.

"But, he's really not that bad," she continued. "He is brilliant, and I'm learning so much!" she finished enthusiastically.

"That's our Hermione," Harry said fondly. "Never one to pass up a learning opportunity, no matter how odious the circumstances."

"That's right, I live to learn!" she answered, playing along. The sooner they were off the subject of Snape the better, as far as she was concerned.

But, Ron was not to be joked out of his rather serious tone. "Hermione just tell me you won't work yourself into the ground … That you'll find some way to rest." He reached for her hand again, his eyes sincere.

"Don't worry, Ron," she said soothingly, as she gently extricated her hand once again. "I should probably go and let you both rest," she said in an unnaturally high voice, as she stood up. "Besides, my shift starts soon."

"You'll come back soon, won't you?" Ron asked.

"Of course," she reassured him, but she could not make herself look up.

"Great," Harry said quietly. "We'll see you later, then." Hermione's eyes flicked up to his in time to see him giving her a hard stare.

_Harry knows something's wrong,_ she thought in a panic.

"All right," she said more brightly, smiling at both of her friends as she slipped away.

"Marvelous," she murmured, as she hurried off. "That went well."

With a quarter of an hour to go before her shift began, Hermione decided to avail herself of the staff room, in an attempt to secure a quiet place to examine her increasingly disturbing thoughts.

"Please be empty," she whispered to the staff room door just before opening it. Thankfully, it was.

Hermione heaved a sigh of relief and dragged herself to the long wooden table littered with candy wrappers, dirty tea mugs, and used napkins. Hermione smiled as she threw herself down into a chair and cleared a space before her so she could rest her aching head on the tabletop unimpeded.

_I see that house elves haven't been here in a while,_ she thought purposelessly.

Hermione rolled her head back and forth on the table a few times, just feeling the cool, smooth wood on her warm forehead. And, she wondered about Ron.

_He's acting just like the time when_ …_ oh, God, no!_ she thought with sudden alarm, giving the table a little bang with her head. "I am not going through that again! I won't give him my heart, only to have him crush it once more!" She clutched at her chest as though to protect the offended organ.

Her mind went back to the mistake she had made with Ron the previous year … a mistake she did not intend to ever make again.

Ron and Harry had been out Horcrux hunting, returning to Hogwarts at odd times to rest and regroup before heading out again. Hermione had, of course, been attending seventh year classes, working with Madam Pomfrey, and helping her two best friends in any way she could.

One Saturday afternoon, during one of Harry's and Ron's sporadic visits, Hermione and Ron had found themselves alone in the room that he and Harry always shared when they came back. Harry had been off debriefing Professor McGonagall on his activities, leaving his two friends to research a particular curse on one of the Horcruxes that had been found recently.

Ron had been acting strangely all that day. He had been distracted and unable to keep up with the conversation around him. Hermione had caught him staring at her a great deal of the time. It had been as though he'd had something on his mind, and was trying to work out how to talk about it..

After Hermione had asked him to pass a reference book to her three times without response, she had looked up from her work to see Ron staring at her vacantly. Concern deeply etched on her face, and with her heart in her throat, Hermione had touched his hand, finally covering it with her own.

Now, as she sat alone in the staff room, she could remember how her heart had clutched at her with nerves. She remembered feeling afraid and strangely excited at the same time. She closed her eyes as she saw her memory self take a deep breath and …

_"What's wrong, Ron?" she whispered. Ron's face reddened, as he stared at her hand on his. He did not pull away, and she felt a thrill run through her._

"I want something more with you, Hermione!" he blurted, suddenly. And, his hand was now clutching hers desperately.

Hermione stared at him, her heart beating so fast that she feared she might faint. "What do you mean?" she asked shakily. But, he did not answer her—not in words, anyway. 

For, in the next moment, his lips were on hers, soft but insistent. Hermione couldn't move, so great was her shock. Was this really happening, at long last?

She had waited three long years for Ron to notice her … three years of heartache and crying into her pillow. Had the boy she had once described as having "the emotional range of a teaspoon," finally grown up enough to recognise his own heart's leanings?

She leaned into him, as far as the table between them would allow, and kissed him back with all her heart. Apparently encouraged, he dragged her out of her chair and pressed her to him possessively.

As their kisses became more passionate, Hermione's heart soared and her delirious mind lost itself in the moment. Through the fog, she heard Ron confess his love to her, and she responded breathily in kind. Articles of clothing fell away, puddling themselves on the floor at their feet. And there was skin on skin. There was heated clutching, and frenzied cries of pleasure.

At some point, Hermione was gently lowered onto Ron's four poster, and there was gentle exploration, stroking, licking, nibbling … then, there was pain, and blood, and groans of release … and then neither Ron nor Hermione were virgins anymore.

Hermione's eyes snapped open and the memory receded like so much fog burning off at the touch of the sun.

She sat up, feeling heart sore and suddenly very alone. She could not say she was sorry she had given herself to Ron, for at the time, she had really believed they were in love. That was why she had been so devastated when, a few months later, on another visit to the castle, Ron had gently told her he felt they had made a mistake …

Hermione closed her eyes against the cutting memory of the overwhelming pain she'd felt at his words …

_"A mistake!" Hermione cried, her eyes immediately pooling with incredulous tears. "What are you talking about?"_

Ron looked sheepish, his eyes downcast, his ears crimson with disconcertion. "I don't know, Hermione," he said, running a hand roughly through his hair, as he started to pace. "There's so much going on right now, what with the war escalating. The final battle isn't far away … maybe we just got carried away. Maybe what we have isn't really love." He looked at her, his eyes fearful and apologetic.

"You're babbling, Ron," she mumbled, as she lowered her own eyes miserably.

"I know," he said sullenly. "I don't want to hurt you, but I'm just not sure what I want with you, Hermione. And, I can't take time to figure it out right now," He eyed her sadly for a moment. "I'm sorry."

Hermione just barely contained her impulse to gape at him. She felt as though he'd pounded a stake through her heart. She was sure she could feel her life's blood pumping out of her.

"That's it, then?" she whispered, still looking down dejectedly.

"For now," Ron replied, his voice full of pity. She cringed inwardly at it. "But, if you would wait for me … until after the war, perhaps? Maybe we could talk again."

Clasping her hands over her face in mortification, Hermione groaned as she remembered agreeing to wait. It had been a pathetic thing to do, but the pain had been too great. It had threatened to overtake her, and she had felt compelled to grasp at any chance of hope Ron held out to her. She would have, at that moment, done anything to make his rejection more bearable.

The next several weeks had been hell. She had thrown herself into her work, so she couldn't think about Ron. It had seemed to her far better to fill her head with Healing Spells, Potions, and procedures than to think of their first time together … and all it had meant to her.

Now, as she sat in the familiar staff room, a feeling of unreality blanketed her.

_This just can't be happening,_ Hermione thought, wishing with all her heart that thinking the words made them true.

And, in that instant, as if in answer to a prayer, her conflicted emotions gelled and a sense of clarity filled her. "I don't love him anymore," she whispered, her eyes wide with realisation. A small, tight smile formed on her face. "That's why I felt so uncomfortable when I saw that look in his eyes."

At some point, during all the previous months of pain and chaos, Hermione had stopped loving Ron. This fact at once exhilarated and saddened her. She knew she could never be hurt by Ron's rejection again, but now she must do the rejecting, if he were to speak to her about starting up their relationship again.

"That is not a happy thought," she said with a frown. "I just hope he doesn't say anything until he is recovered." She did not relish the thought of hurting him when he was at his lowest point, both physically and emotionally. After all, he was dealing with war injuries AND his brothers' deaths. She shook her head sadly.

Hermione looked down at her watch absently and noted it was time to start her shift. She stood to go, and feeling free, but, at the same time, strangely fettered, she left to begin her rounds.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Hermione's shift was very busy, and she shamelessly used that as an excuse to keep away from Harry and Ron's partitioned cubicle. Even when Ginny asked her to accompany her to see them, Hermione had only smiled and said she hadn't the time.

She was irritated and half afraid of Ginny anyway, not just for her ridiculous inferences about Snape, but because she would not stop hinting at said inferences.

"You are being really very trying, Ginny," Hermione said wearily, as she and her tormentor prepared their patients' evening dosages in Madam Pomfrey's office.

"Am I?" Ginny asked innocently. Hermione glared at her in answer.

"All I'm saying is that you should think about the possibility of a relationship with Snape ... maybe write about it in that journal of yours ... you know, to sort out your feelings."

"Nonsense!" Hermione blustered, slamming down a bottle of tissue-knitting potion rather harder than she'd meant to do.

"Methinks the lady doth protest too much," Ginny said with a knowing smile.

"All right!" Hermione spat, her eyes on fire. "I'll think about it, since I know you won't stop blathering on and on until I say I will!" She picked up her tray of potions and headed for the door.

"That's all I'm asking," Ginny replied happily, while grasping her own tray and following her friend.

As Hermione stepped out on the floor, she nearly ran into Madam Pomfrey herself. "Oh, I'm sorry," she spluttered, quickly wiping a scowl off her face and steadying her tray. Ginny slipped past both women with a deferential nod to the matron.

"That's all right, dear," the matron said, as she hurriedly returned Ginny's greeting. "Don't you have Zacharias Smith on your patient load today?"

"Yes," Hermione answered feeling a sense of foreboding.

"Well, Miss Brown worked with him today," she said, warning in every syllable. "She says he's been a bit … difficult."

"Oh, good news," Hermione mumbled.

"Yes, well, good luck, Miss Granger," Madam Pomfrey said, and she headed away in a billow of her skirts.

"Zacharias Smith!" Hermione whined to herself. "Just what I needed—another challenge!"

None of the assistants enjoyed working with Zacharias. He was not a particularly pleasant person when well, but ill was unbearable.

He had suffered from a rather extensive Skin Flaying Hex near the middle of the final battle, which had afflicted over fifty percent of his body, mostly the upper half. Madam Pomfrey had cast the counter-curse when he'd been brought in, and the patient had been put on a regimen of skin restoring and pain reducing potions. He had been improving steadily ever since, but he didn't seem at all appreciative of the care he was getting. He complained almost constantly. Nothing was ever right, especially not, it seemed, Hermione's care giving skills.

Zacharias, in fact, seemed to make it a point to give her the hardest time of all the other assistants. Today was to be no exception.

"You're too rough! Must you blunder about like a hippogriff in a china closet!" he complained when she attempted to turn him over to change the bandages on his back. Hermione set her jaw and rolled her eyes while he wasn't looking, but bit back the sharp retort perched on the end of her tongue.

Later, Zacharias complained that his soup was cold. "It's your fault, you know!" he groused petulantly. "You waited too long to bring it, and now it is stone cold."

Hermione offered to cast a Warming Charm on the soup, but Zacharias only pouted and pushed the bowl away roughly, thus splashing its contents all down his front. "Oh, now look what you made me do!" he bellowed, his face purpling with rage. "Fat lot of help you are!"

Hermione nearly choked herself on the tirade she wanted to unleash on the prat, as she changed his pajama top with quick, practiced hands. And the fact that he groaned and cried out as though she were beating him the entire time didn't improve her disposition one whit.

When she could finally get away from him just before lights out, she threw a "goodnight" at him and flounced off as quickly as she could before he could think of any other demoralizing invectives to throw at her.

In between Zacharias' unreasonable demands, Hermione fed, dosed, and bed-bathed her other patients, all the while feeling more and more tired and unwell herself. Her chest was aching all the time now, and her breathing was sorely taxed by anything over a sedate walk.

_Damn cold!_ she thought, partly because she would've felt too guilty "damning" the real object of her ire.

It was ten o'clock before she was finally able to begin her paperwork. But, Zacharias was still not done with her. When she heard him ring his bell, she heaved herself from her chair with a very unladylike growl and trudged to the tyrant's side.

"Yes?" she gritted out.

"My blanket is too scratchy," he fretted, without preamble. "Get me another one."

Hermione did not bother to point out that he was now using the same blanket he had used since he had begun his hospital stay, but only shot off to find a different one—of exactly the same make and material.

When she had finished tucking the new blanket around the troublesome boy, he started squirming in the most exaggerated and irritating manner possible, complete with little grunting noises. "My God! I'm roasting! Can't you do something about it?!"

_Aaahhhhhhhhhhh!_

Finally, at around eleven p.m. Hermione found herself seated in the staff room finishing up her notes, when Ginny entered, humming. Hermione eyed her wearily with her hollow dark-smudged eyes.

"Are you about finished, Hermione?" Ginny asked pleasantly, as she took a seat at the table next to her. "You look done in. In fact," she said, eyes narrowing suspiciously "you look positively ill. Are you all right?"

"Zacharias Smith," she groaned, her countenance grim.

_I am not sick!_

"Oh," Ginny replied with a wry smile. "That would explain it." Hermione nodded mutely. Ginny patted her hand. "Do you want to go to the kitchens and let the house-elves feed us when you're done? I could wait for you."

"No, thanks. I'm so exhausted, I think I'll just finish my notes and head to my rooms."

_Besides, I don't want to have another round of, "Let's talk about Snape," right now._

"All right, I'll see you tomorrow, Hermione." Ginny departed with a sympathetic glance.

Hermione wrote her last comment on Zacharias Smith's chart—"difficult tonight!"---and flipped it closed with a snap.

Just then, Madam Pomfrey poked her head into the room, a frown on her face. "Are you still here, Miss Granger?"

"I was just getting ready to leave, Madam Pomfrey," Hermione assured the somewhat harassed-looking Matron. 

"Well, good. Miss Weasley informed me you've had a time of it tonight." she continued in her usual no-nonsense tone, as she stepped in and snatched an apparently forgotten chart off the table with a disgusted scowl. "Are you very wound up? Do you need a sleeping potion?"

"No, thank you, Madam Pomfrey. I'm fine." For a moment, Hermione considered telling the distracted matron about her rather unusual symptoms but decided against it.

_All I need is a good night's sleep, and I'll be right as rain,_ she thought, not quite convincing herself.

"All right, then. I'll see you tomorrow. Good night," she said with a perfunctory smile, as she rushed to leave, brandishing the chart in front of her. Hermione smiled when she heard the good matron muttering to herself in low, obviously irritated tones as the door closed behind her.

A few minutes later, Hermione pushed through the double doors and gratefully turned her aching feet toward the dungeons and her rooms. She was infinitely glad that Ginny had not insisted on their getting together that night, for she was exhausted and wanted to think of nothing more than her rooms and their small comforts. She most certainly did not wish to talk about and/or think about Snape, and Ginny, who could be like the proverbial dog with a bone, would not have let her friend get away with that.

But, now she was alone, Hermione's mind seemed to naturally swing in the direction of Snape and his unaccountable behavior, first in the Potions room, with his almost apology, then that tiny nod he had afforded her at lunch in the Great Hall. She had to admit, those incidents did seem to indicate somewhat out of character behavior for her normally austere ex-professor.

"Oh, really!" she huffed. "I'm too tired to think of this now. I'll think about it tomorrow!" 

But, as she continued on her weary way, she found that, much as she wished to think of anything but Snape, he seemed to be invading her thoughts anyway. "Oh, bother!" she cried in frustration. "All right, now it is, then!"

_What do I think about Snape?_ She questioned herself bemusedly. _Well, he's brilliant, I suppose. He's also brave, and loyal, even to his own hurt._

Here, she paused in her cogitations long enough to slip behind a dusty, old tapestry which led directly to a secret passageway to the dungeon corridors. The passageway itself was dank and musty, winding and steep. Every few yards the steps were lit by bracketed torches, whose curving light created eerie shadows on the walls as Hermione passed.

As she carefully descended, her heels clicked, the even staccato echoing around her. It was a sharp, but strangely comforting sound. "Now, where was I?" Hermione muttered, her voice semi-drowned out by heel clicks. "Oh, yes, the qualities of one Severus Snape, as I see them … honestly, Ginny!" she admonished the ginger-haired meddler in absentia. "It does seem we have some things in common," she admitted grudgingly, "Like, a love of Potions, research, and reading—just as Ginny mentioned." She gave a mental tip of her hat to her friend—along with a healthy eye-roll.

With her feet on autopilot, Hermione tried to imagine spending time with Snape pursuing such common interests as a couple—for arguments sake. She envisioned quiet nights by the fire reading companionably, or even aloud to each other. She could almost hear his rich, deep baritone as he expounded on an article in one of their favorite magazines, or perhaps, as he read out one of Shakespeare's sonnets.

That thought made her giggle and squirm a little bit. "Snape, reading a love poem to me, of all people!" But, she found it was not an entirely unpleasant idea. "Oh, yes." she mocked herself with a somewhat indelicate snort. "Perhaps I could talk him into it one day."

Just then, she gained the bottom of the steps and pushed through the small, somewhat scarred door leading to the dungeon corridors proper. She turned to the right and upon sight of them, headed towards her rooms, feeling more exhausted the closer she came to them.

"I suppose he's not handsome in the conventional sense," she continued to herself conversationally. "With that lank hair, hooked nose, and those crooked teeth … but, he's certainly not what I'd call ugly." She thought a moment more. "I don't think that matters so much anyway." With this, she had reached her quarters at last.

She crumpled against the wall beside her portrait hole door, forehead against its cool stone form, to let her breathing even out. She did not bother cursing her "cold", as she didn't have the lung power for even that. And, her ability to continue to deny the truth about her ill health was quickly slipping away from her.

She returned her mind back to the subject at hand in an attempt to distract herself. "If he wasn't such a terrible curmudgeon, he might actually be attractive," she murmured, relieved to feel her breathing returning to normal.

"Who might be attractive, Miss Granger?" came the deep, falsely polite voice of the mysterious wizard himself.

"Don't do that!" she shrieked, whipping around in a flurry of robes. Then, she closed her eyes in an anguish of embarrassment, as well as renewed breathlessness. She felt she would like to sink into the floor.

She did not see the concern that flitted across his eyes for a moment. She did not know that it was on the tip of Snape's tongue to ask if Hermione was all right … until her eyes flew open and her red hot glare reassured him his solicitousness was not necessary.

His face cracked into an amused half-smile, his beetle black eyes appraising her interestedly. "To what are you referring, exactly? What is it you think I have done?" he purred evenly, as he folded his arms and began circling Hermione slowly.

She did not try to contain her frustration, for she was very agitated and had no desire to play his games. "You know precisely what I mean, sir!" she cried, tossing her hands in the air and rolling her eyes heavenward. "You're always lurking in the shadows or slinking around behind me. You must be doing it on purpose! I would have heard your approach if you weren't deliberately skulking about …"

"Skulking? Lurking? And, slinking?" Snape said pretending to be offended, though the mirthful snapping of his eyes continued to belie his manner. "The very idea!"

Suddenly, Hermione felt she was caught in an insidious trap and, her instincts told her she needed to key herself down, almost as if to placate a predator. "Are we finished here, sir?" Hermione said in a small, weary voice, and trying to look as mild as possible. "Only, I am quite tired and would like to retire."

Snape eyed her, as if trying to make a decision. Hermione inwardly cringed at his wordless appraisal. "First, you artlessly avoid answering my question, and then you hurl unsavory accusations at me. This is not very good form, Miss Granger. I am surprised at you." Snape's eyes were positively alight with glee.

_He is really enjoying seeing me on the hot seat,_ Hermione thought grimly, as she swallowed down another wave of near panic.

She tried again, "I'm sorry, sir," she gritted out. "I did not mean to insult you."

"Well, then," he said in a silky, wheedling baritone, "perhaps you can make it up to me by at least telling me of whom you were thinking." His eyes were laughing at her now, his smile triumphant.

_He thinks he's won!_ She thought incredulously. _He thinks he can make me tell him!_

But, Hermione had had enough of playing timid mouse to his big, bad cat. "That is none of your business, sir!" she insisted. And, it was obvious to Snape that she would brook no further argument. "Why do you wish to know, anyway?" She had her hands on her hips now, and her eyes could have burnt holes through him.

"I don't," he said quickly, his black gaze turning icy. "I merely enjoy watching you scramble."

"That's what I thought," she spat disdainfully. "Goodnight, sir!" And, in an instant, Hermione had given her password and dashed through the portrait hole to the safety of her rooms. Her breath was coming in ragged pulls and her hands were shaking.

"That was entirely too close for comfort," she gasped, as she pulled at the buttons of her robes and let them fall to the floor without another thought. Her only goal for now was a hot bath and her soft bed.

As for Snape, he had watched with a mixture of continued delight and a strange, sharp displeasure as Hermione scurried through her portrait hole and proceeded to slam its frame behind her, without so much as backward glance.

He was at a loss as to what to think of this most recent development between him and his assistant. Once again, he found he was not so much puzzled by Hermione's behaviour as by his own. He could admit, if only to himself that he really had been more interested in the answer to his question than was reasonable. The rational side of him knew she was absolutely right. He had no earthly right to meddle in her private life. But, there was also no denying her refusal to give him an answer had annoyed him just the same.

But, why? Why did he care about the silly romantic inclinations of Hermione Granger? After all, didn't most young people think of romance at one time or another? As far as he knew, she had not succumbed to the usual hormonally charged entanglements during her years as a student at Hogwarts. But, did it not seem perfectly reasonable that now the war was over her mind and heart might turn to thoughts of love and even marriage? Of course it did. So, why on earth did Snape feel so unreasonably discomfited by the very idea of her having developed an attraction to someone?

As these thoughts tumbled through his mind, Snape became abruptly aware that he was still standing before Hermione's portrait hole staring at it like a moonstruck adolescent. "This is utter nonsense!" he growled. And, he spun in a whirl of whispering black robes and strode smoothly off in the direction of his own rooms.

Hermione, meanwhile, had had her hot bath and was feeling at least a little more relaxed. Much of her anger and panic had left her, but there was no doubt that her latest confrontation with Snape had still been very unsettling. So unsettling, in fact, that, tired as she was, she could not imagine closing her eyes in sleep until she'd at least attempted to sort it all out in her mind.

So, after donning her warmest flannel nightgown and a pair of woolen socks, Hermione magically doused all the lights in her room except for the pillar candle at her bedside. Then, with an audible sigh of relief, she climbed into her four poster, set her much abused and re-repaired alarm clock, and reached into her side table drawer for her journal.

She smiled as she let the cool, soft leather-bound book rest comfortably in her hands for a moment. She loved her journal. It was like her friend, her closest confidante. It contained all her dearest dreams, deepest sorrows, and most hidden secrets.

The truth was Hermione was a very self-contained and private person, as a general rule. She had friends, and held them very dear. But, she did not confide very often in them. In fact, she was the one who usually played the roll of confidant and counselor in her relationships. Even Ginny, with whom Hermione considered herself to be quite close, knew very little of her innermost thoughts.

And that was how Hermione preferred it. It just felt safer to write about her deeper feelings, rather than speaking them allowed. Friends, good intentioned though they were, might accidentally reveal her confidences. But, she knew her journal would never slip up, and as she kept it heavily warded in locking charms, she did not fear anyone would ever view her thoughts without her permission.

_Time for a little soul-bearing,_ she thought, as she opened the book to a blank page, took up her favorite quill and began writing.

_It has been a most extraordinary day!_ she wrote, her hand smoothly moving over the page. Then, she went on to describe Ron's disturbing behaviour, Zacharias Smith's pestering, and Ginny's sudden insistence that she think about her feelings concerning Snape.

_Of course, he is the last person I wish to be thinking of, generally. But, I find that now Ginny has introduced the subject I cannot help but to think about him. As a result, the most embarrassing thing just happened!_

As Hermione went on to describe her disconcerting meeting out in the corridor with Snape, she felt anew the utter panic and mortification of being caught making such a personal confession.

_The thing that puzzled me the most, however, was Snape's seeming interest in the identity of the person for whom I might entertain such thoughts. Of course, he didn't admit to his curiosity, implying he only enjoyed tormenting me. But, I have an idea that there is slightly more to it than that._

He is, as always, difficult to read, but something in his manner makes me think he really wanted to know.

Hermione's quill paused, and her eyes clouded over as she pictured the scene in her mind once more.

_This is purely speculation—but perhaps I__ might__ consider that Ginny__ might__ not be totally off base. Perhaps there__ might__ be more between us than just the work we do together_ …

At this, Hermione blushed and dropped her quill, as if it had burnt her.

"Am I going crazy?" she questioned softly, biting at her lip in consternation.

After a few moments and a few deep breaths, she took up her quill again. But she could think of nothing further to add. "Oh, I'll never figure all of this out in one night!" she said, frowning at her tidy scrawl. "I suppose I'll just have to wait and see."

She snapped her journal shut, secured it, and shoved it and her quill into her bedside table drawer for safe keeping.

With her mind still in a whirl, it was another hour before Hermione could comfortably settle into sleep.

Snape, who was ensconced in his own comfortable bed, also found sleep eluding him. To his infinite annoyance and very great surprise, he found he could not, try as he might, force Hermione Granger and the mystery man of their earlier conversation from his thoughts. He was not used to falling prey to such concerns. He felt befuddled, almost disoriented. And, he did not like the feeling one bit.

"What's happening to me?" he whispered to the enveloping darkness.

The next morning dawned far too early for both Snape and Hermione. Neither of them had slept well, each having been wakened several times in the night by anxious and disturbing thoughts and dreams.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Hermione felt decidedly ill, even feverish. A quick fever scan with her wand showed her temperature to be just over 101 F. Her head felt very heavy, her chest congested and tight. She fought dizziness as she drug her aching body from the bed and wobbled shakily to her bathroom.

The sight she saw in the mirror was no more comforting than the complaints of her body. Her face was peaked, except for the high spots of color flushing her cheeks. Her pupils were dilated, and a fine sheen of sweat lay upon her brow. 

Somehow, she managed to dress and perform a cursory toilette. Then, she took up her bag and trudged out the portrait hole and moved toward the Potions room dazedly.

As she stepped up to the double doors, she checked her watch, and let a small smile turn up the corners of her pale lips. "Five minutes early," she whispered in quiet triumph.

"Why do you stand outside those doors for the second morning in a row?" Snape said through the door in exasperation. "Who is lurking now?" Hermione could hear the poorly disguised laughter in his voice, and it made her smile all the more.

The doors swung open to reveal Hermione to Snape's almost playful gaze. But, as his eyes took in his assistant's sickly appearance, his expression abruptly changed to mild shock. "Miss Granger, are you quite well?" he asked, his voice low and almost concerned.

"I'm fine," she sighed, waving the question away with a languid hand.

But, the truth was the walk to the Potions room had done her no good at all. Her breathing was now labored and the dizziness was making her head spin. She shook as she stepped further into the room. But, suddenly the room seemed to be moving and heaving all about her. "Miss Granger!" Snape shouted, as he moved quickly to her side, placing his hand at her elbow and bringing his eyes level with hers.

"I'm fine," she slurred breathlessly. "Just a little warm …" Then the darkness began to close in around her. "Sir?" she cried, clutching at his arms fearfully. And, her eyes rolled back in her head. She felt herself spinning and falling. There was a roaring in her ears, and her lips went numb. Then, the darkness completely took her.

And she knew no more.

A brief and brutal consciousness, punctuated by the rush of cool air on her fevered face and the familiar and strangely comforting scent of bitter herbs and clean, warm wool, only served to confuse Hermione's already reeling mind. She could find no grappling point to anchor her, and it was terrifying. She heard a rasping cry, her own, then a soft voice hovering somewhere above her.

"It's all right, Miss Granger. Do not upset yourself. I will help you." The voice, more than the words comforted her, before she welcomed the all-encompassing darkness once again.

_Oh, God … my chest! Can't breathe! Can't breathe!_ Hermione's mind was swimming in terrified panic. She thought in jagged punctuation marks. Her eyes opened to slits. _God, the light! Too bright! It hurts! It hurts! Please!_

Hermione did not know if she had spoken out loud, but the next moment, she felt a large firm hand at the back of her head pushing her up to half-reclining, and the cool, smooth rim of a goblet gently being pressed to her painfully dry lips. She scrabbled at the hand holding the intrusive object ineffectually.

_No! Can't breathe! Stop!_ Her eyes opened wide, rolling with abject terror. A face swam into focus—a face framed in black, with a furrowed brow and glinting black eyes, and lips pursed in determination.

_Snape?_

"Come now, Miss Granger," he said patiently, gently. "Take your potion. It will make you feel better."

_The voice. Yes._ she thought, calming immediately. _I can trust him. He's just trying to help._ And she stopped fighting the ministering hand holding the goblet and swallowed the potion. Her last thought was, _Wretched!_ Then, merciful sleep descended upon her once more.

Several times more, Hermione came to the surface, and there was the voice, the face, the hands, and the goblet of "wretched" potion. Each time she awoke was less difficult than the last. And, each time, Snape spoke to her soothingly, handling her with a gentle, but firm hand.

Then, all at once, she awoke and knew she had come back for good. There was no more pain, no more fever, and her mind was fully alert. Opening her eyes, she half expected to see Snape's face above her as before. She turned her head slowly and let her eyes focus. She was in the hospital wing, and she was alone.

"Was it all a dream?" she groaned.

"Was what all a dream, dear?" came the crisp, but friendly voice of Madam Pomfrey through Hermione's partition. Then, with a bustle of crinoline, the lady herself appeared beside her patient's bed, holding a small tray of potions vials. "I am glad you are finally with us again." She smiled kindly.

"Yes, thank you," Hermione answered, as she tried to pull herself up to sitting.

"Oh, no, no, no!" Madam Pomfrey clucked, as she put the tray on the table and descended on her to settle her back on the bed. "There'll be none of that just yet. You're still far too weak."

Hermione fell back gratefully. "How long have I been here, Madam Pomfrey?" she asked in barely a whisper, closing her eyes against the light-headed feeling trying to overwhelm her.

"Three days, Miss Granger," the good matron replied seriously. "And, it was a very near thing for a good bit of the time. You had a rather stubborn high fever. My treatments didn't seem to touch it at first."

"Gracious!" Hermione gasped, eyes wide in her still pale face. "What was wrong with me?"

"Pneumonia, dear," Madam Pomfrey replied as she opened the first of the vials and handed it to Hermione. "Made worse, if I do not miss my guess, by exhaustion and lack of proper care for yourself," she finished tersely, watching her patient out of the corner of her eyes.

Hermione felt the sudden urge to apologise, for she knew Madam Pomfrey was quite right. She'd been careless, not eating properly, not sleeping … "I know," Hermione said with a sigh, trying not to sound like a petulant child that had been caught being naughty. "It's just there's so much to do and …"

"Yes, I know, dear. I don't mean to scold. But, you'll have to be more careful in future. No pushing yourself like that again." She eyed Hermione severely, but Hermione saw the genuine concern in the medi-witch's eyes and it warmed her.

"Yes, ma'am," she replied obediently. "I'm only sorry that I was so much trouble. I'm sure I needed a great deal of attention and, with the wing being full, it must have been a hardship on you."

"Not on me," Madam Pomfrey smiled. "It's the wizard who brought you here you'll want to be apologising to, if you've a mind."

"Snape? He helped a bit with my care?" Hermione asked carefully, as she remembered what she had begun to think of as just a dream.

"I should say so! In fact, until last night, when your fever finally broke, he never really left. He only took his rest in fits and spurts over there in that bed." Madam Pomfrey gestured behind her, directing Hermione's eyes to the still rumpled cot several feet away from her own bed. 

Hermione's eyes widened with shock. "Oh, my," she whispered.

"Stubborn man! It'll be a wonder if he manages to keep his own health," Madam Pomfrey continued, as she opened a second vial, an herbal decongestant, and handed it to her stunned patient. "As soon as he realised I would be too busy to constantly attend you myself, he insisted on staying."

The fretting matron stoppered the now empty vial Hermione had dutifully drained and reached for the third and last vial, a strengthening potion, and absently opened it and handed it over. "I told him that each of my assistants had volunteered to sit with you, but he wouldn't hear of it." Hermione watched as Madam Pomfrey replaced the vial on her tray and picked it up with a huff.

"You gave him quite a time, I must say—all flailing arms and fevered cries, but he was as patient with you as I'd ever hoped to see him." The matron turned to go, but stopped suddenly and turned again as she reached the partition, a thoughtful look on her softened face. "He must think something of you, Miss Granger. He's never done anything like that for anyone," her eyes sparkled slightly. "Not even one of his Slytherins."

Madam Pomfrey smiled knowingly at Hermione's gobsmacked expression. "I'll send Miss Weasley in to help you with a nice wash up before you sleep again," she said kindly. And she stepped away.

Hermione was left with her mouth hanging open, as she stared at the spot where Madam Pomfrey had been standing only seconds before. She did not know what to think of what she had just heard. But, if her tired mind even had the inclination to examine this strange conversation, she wasn't given much time to do so.

Ginny came bounding in, a bright smile on her smooth, if freckled face. "Madam Pomfrey said you were up. Are you ready for a bath?" she asked as she placed an enameled wash bowl on the bedside table.

Hermione nodded. "Hello, Ginny," she said absently. Ginny carefully placed an extra pillow behind Hermione's head, so that she wasn't lying flat. Then, she reached into the bowl for a flannel and wrung it out before handing it to her friend. "You're looking better than the last time I saw you," she said, folding her hands before her and regarding her dear friend with a satisfied expression.

Hermione gratefully passed the warm, damp flannel over her face, with a contented sigh. It felt good to get some of the grime of the last few days off. "Thank you, I feel better, too."

"Well, I should hope so," Ginny said, as she took the flannel from her to re-wet it. "You had the best care possible." Ginny pretended to be busy with the rag and bowl, but Hermione saw the sly expression on her face and the way she was watching her out of the corner of her eyes.

"All right, Ginny," Hermione sighed heavily, doing her best to appear put upon. "Say what you've got to say."

Ginny all but leapt at the bedside in sudden excitement, making Hermione jump. She seated herself on the visitor's chair, and leaned in toward her friend confidentially. "Oh, Hermione! He was brilliant!" she said excitedly, trying to keep her voice down for privacy's sake. "Snape, I mean … he hardly ever left your side, and he wouldn't allow anyone else to tend you! He administered all your potions to you, and from what I observed he was very—well, gentle about it." 

Ginny's eyes were shining and her face glowed. "Do you remember anything? I mean, I know you were pretty well out of it, but can you remember him being here at all?"

Hermione was staring at her friend, trying to contain her reaction to Ginny's rhapsodising. "I remember," she said softly, "some of it."

Ginny clasped her hands in her lap delightedly, her smile widening. "I told you he cares about you! This just proves it! Why, even Madam Pomfrey said …"

"I know, she told me," Hermione interrupted, before Ginny could get going again. She let a shy smile creep up on her face at the memory.

Ginny reached over and patted her friend's hand. "What do you think of my "bad joke", now?" Hermione only rolled her eyes in response to Ginny's obvious reference to their conversation in the Great Hall a few days previously.

"Well," Ginny said gleefully, jumping up to charm the bath water warm again. "I think I am right, and the two of you are perfect for one another." Hermione stared at her friend, struggling to keep her expression neutral. "And, I think Snape would agree with me."

"Ginny!" Hermione exclaimed, her pale face reddening furiously.

Ginny only laughed and pushed the bath bowl across the bedside table and nearer to her patient. "Why don't you finish your bath, whilst I get your lunch tray. Then, I'll help you change into a fresh gown. All right?"

"All right," Hermione agreed, feeling thankful for the change of subject. The shy smile was back, and she did not meet Ginny's eyes.

Ginny sailed out of the room, and Hermione blew out a tension-filled breath with grateful relief.

_Heavens!_ she thought, feeling all the more flustered, _that girl is incorrigible!_

She took up the flannel and, with slightly shaking hands finished her wash up. "I can't wait to have a proper bath," she murmured under her breath.

She was trying her best to be calm about the revelations of the last approximately fifteen harrowing minutes, but it wasn't working. It was obvious she had some thinking to do, if all that Madam Pomfrey and Ginny had related to her was true. As she had no reason to suppose otherwise, she let bits and snatches of the two conversations reel through her mind as if she were watching it all happen before her eyes once again. She could only come to one conclusion.

_They could be right._ She thought tentatively. _It would seem Snape might be harboring some deeper feelings for me._ She paused again, just letting the thought sink in. _Now the question remains, 'What do I think about that?'_

Hermione felt her heart leap to her throat, just as Ginny popped back in, bearing a small tray containing a mini teapot, cup, small bowl of soup, and a vial of what looked to be a sleeping draught of some kind. "I'm afraid it's not much," Ginny said regretfully.

"It's all right," Hermione smiled wanly. "I don't think I could manage more."

"Shall I help you change into your fresh gown before you eat?" Hermione nodded, though she felt so tired that such a simple chore seemed overwhelming.

But, somehow it was done, and Hermione found herself propped up, her lunch tray before her. She felt much fresher, and even a little hungry. She began on her soup without further ado, while Ginny puttered about the area straightening her covers and arranging her table. Finally, Hermione finished her meal, and Ginny collected the tray.

"Thanks, Ginny," she said in tired, but contented tones.

"You're quite welcome," Ginny smiled, as she turned to go, but then she stopped and turned to Hermione again. "Oh, when I went to your room to get your things, I remembered to get your journal from your bedside table." she eyed Hermione knowingly. "I thought you might want it."

"Thanks, Ginny," Hermione said again, her eyes speaking volumes.

Ginny winked at her. "Don't forget your potion." Hermione nodded, took up the vial from her table and uncorked it. "I'll see you later."

Hermione swallowed her potion and scooted down in bed until her head rested comfortably on her pillow. Finally, she was alone with her thoughts.

Snape woke with a start, his heart pounding with urgency. He all but scrambled up into a sitting position his head whipping back and forth, as though he was looking for something—or, someone. It took him a moment to realise he was in his own bed, in his own room, and not in the hospital wing—with her.

With a shake of his head, his memory of the last few days came flooding back to him, starting with last night when Madam Pomfrey had swished her wand over Hermione's perfectly inert form and smilingly assured him his assistant was out of danger. Such joy, such relief had flooded him! He felt it even now.

The fever that had persisted so dangerously was gone and the horrible strident breathing had eased. She would live, and he did not feel compelled to question why the knowledge made him so very happy and—what was the word—at ease, for the first time in days.

In fact, he felt no need at all to question his feelings, because he had not only admitted to himself that he had them, but had all ready succumbed to them.

Watching Hermione—yes, she was Hermione to him now, if only in his mind—struggle for every breath, knowing that her out-of-control fever could kill her, thus taking her from him forever, had forced him to acknowledge in his heretofore resistant mind what was most assuredly all ready crystal clear to his heart.

He closed his eyes, and felt again the terror he had struggled with in the last few days rise up in him again. He had never felt so fearful—so out of control. He had hardly been able to bear watching her suffer so terribly. But, whenever the thought had come to him that she might not make it …

In those horrifying hours at her bedside he had held her hand and just willed her to survive, repeating the thought over and over in his mind. He had sometimes even said it out loud, but only when he was alone with her, of course.

"You will live, Hermione," he had said in soft, but steely tones, his eyes on her pale face, his hands clutching at hers. "You cannot die. I simply won't allow it." 

He had never felt that way about anyone. He had never loved anyone. But, now he knew, beyond any shadow of a doubt, that he loved Hermione Granger.

He knew she deserved better, that he really had no right to hope, but none of that changed the way he felt. Not even the knowledge that she probably didn't hold him in such high esteem could quash his fervor.

Of course, it pained him to think she might not have him. Oh, yes, it stabbed at his insides, causing a white hot ache in his heart, but it in no way lessoned his sentiment.

"It probably should," he muttered, running a hand over his face and grimacing. "If I had any sense at all, I'd run far and fast from such a losing battle." Hadn't he heard Hermione speak about someone she all ready might have an attraction for?

But, despite these depressing ruminations, Snape knew he could run to the ends of the earth and it wouldn't change his heart. He was like a bear with its paw caught in a steel trap. There was no getting away from the claw-like grip. And struggling only hurt all the more and did more damage. He would just have to await his fate. There was simply no other way.

He was by no means ready to speak to Hermione about this. But, she was a smart girl, and he had no doubt that, no matter how subtle he tried to be from this point on, she would most likely figure out some of what he was feeling based on the happenings of the last few days. He knew Madam Pomfrey certainly had. And, he had seen a knowing look on Ginny Weasley's face a time or two, as well.

_Oh, yes! You've been well and truly found out, old man,_ he mentally chided himself.

But, none of that had really mattered to him while he was insisting on caring for her, or wrestling potions down her throat, or holding and stroking her hand, when she was quiet, and no one else was in the area. (God! How he had searched her face for any sign that her torment was nearing its end!) And, it didn't matter to him now, really. What did matter, above all else was that she had lived. He felt he could bear anything that happened from now on because of that one shining truth. Nothing, but nothing, mattered so much as that.

"She lives," he whispered, as his heavy eyes fell closed.

With that, contentment suffused him completely. He fell back onto his bed heavily and let sleep overtake him.

Hermione had slept for some hours, her dreams haunted by the gentle, deep voice, dark eyes, and agonised face of Snape, as she had seen them before, when she had been in the heat of her illness and fighting for consciousness. She felt heavy in mind and body. She could see Snape's lips moving, as he tried to speak to her. She strained to make sense of the sounds he was making, but they seemed to be only mindless babblings. She felt him pressing her hand with his own, only it was as if he was wearing a pair of thick woolen gloves. She very much wished to answer him, but her mouth would not open; her voice would not come forth. She could only look upon the dream Snape with wildly pleading eyes.

_I hear you, sir! I hear you! But, I cannot speak!_

Suddenly, jarringly, his voice amplified, and the words came clear. "Miss Granger, wake up! It's time for you dosage. Wake up!"

Hermione felt her consciousness slam to the surface. She could feel his hands, minus the gloves, squeezing her hand and shaking her arm gently. She could feel the mattress against her back. She swallowed … tried to speak, as she blinked her eyes slowly. Snape's real face materialised, as she oriented herself to her surroundings. She watched as the lines around his eyes and mouth smoothed out in visible relief.

"Good evening," he said softly, the slightest quaver disturbing the rich tones. Hermione only blinked at him for a moment, a slight shiver running through her.

"Good evening," she garbled, at last. "May I have a drink of water?" Snape nodded and his face moved out of Hermione's range of vision. She heard him pour the water from her bedside pitcher, as she let her eyes close again.

Then, Snape's arm slipped gently behind her neck and shoulders, and her eyes flew open. His face was very near hers, his eyes fixed on her. She saw genuine concern in those eyes, and it startled her. He face grew warm, and she knew she was blushing.

"Let me help you," he murmured. Then, he very slowly and carefully lifted Hermione to a seated position and put the goblet to her parched lips. She closed her eyes and drank deeply, not even stopping to breathe until the goblet was drained.

"So thirsty …" she panted, as Snape drew the cup away.

"Yes," he said, almost soothingly. "You were feverish for days. It will be necessary for you to replenish your fluids often for a while." She nodded.

He did not move to release her, but brought a vial to her lips. "Your anti-viral," he said by way of explanation, and tipped it carefully into her mouth. Like a trusting child she received it from his hand, her eyes owlish, as she watched him. He let his mouth quirk into a barely there smile.

When she had finished the entire dosage, she felt him shift her forward a bit more and place pillows behind her. When he was satisfied with their placement, he leaned her back comfortably upon them. "All right?" he asked. She nodded, and he pulled away.

"Yes, thank you," she said with an appreciative, if lopsided smile. She was so tired. She felt drugged and wondered if it was a residual effect of the sleeping draught she'd taken. "I think I will ask Madam Pomfrey for a milder sleeping potion next time," Hermione said thoughtfully, as she settled deeper into her pillows.

"I think that would be wise," he countered, as he pulled the visitor's chair up to her bedside and sat down. "You were very difficult to awaken." The two were quiet then, but it was not an uncomfortable silence.

The last of the days sun fell silently upon Hermione's bed, leaving her face in shadow. A small, somewhat ineffective candle stub burned on her bedside table. By its soft light, she could see Snape's face. He was watching her, his expression neutral.

"Thank you," she said softly. He continued to regard her impassively. "For staying with me, I mean. And, taking care of me."

"You are welcome," he said softly. "I was—happy to help." He leaned forward a bit as he said this, letting her see his eyes. The look in them made her breath hitch.

A soft, "Oh," escaped her.

_He cares for me,_ she thought, a shock of electric realisation shooting through her. _I cannot doubt it now._ Her eyes widened for just a moment. She thought she saw his lips curve up slightly.

"Are you hungry?" he asked.

"A little," she answered absently. Her mind was whirling with the deeper revelation.

Snape turned to retrieve a small tray with yet another bowl of soup upon it. He levitated it to just the right height above her lap, so that she could eat comfortably. "More soup." Hermione grinned.

"Yes," Snape smirked. "Fluids, Miss Granger," he reminded her.

"Call me, 'Hermione'," she said suddenly, her eyes shooting up to capture his. He looked slightly startled—questioning. "You've seen me at some of my worst moments," she said firmly. "It seems silly to maintain such unfamiliarity."

He nodded slowly. "All right, Hermione," It amazed both of them how easily her name rolled off his tongue. 

She gave him a pleased smile, and he felt amazed at that, too. "Well, I will leave you to your dinner." He stood to go.

"Will you come back tomorrow?" Hermione asked. She could hear the slight anxiousness in her voice. She wondered if he could hear it, too.

He walked to the partition before answering her, an amused smirk on his face. "I will come," he said simply.

She smiled again. "Good night, sir."

"Severus," he said softly. Then, he was gone. 


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

For the next week, Hermione recovered in the hospital wing under the watchful eye of Madam Pomfrey. The enforced rest gave her plenty of time to think … and to write her thoughts in her journal, as a means of sorting them out.

She saw Ginny regularly, but strangely her friend did not bring up the subject of Snape one time, even though she often looked very much as if she wished to speak. Hermione was very grateful for this little restraint on Ginny's part. For, Hermione's feelings were just too new to be spoken about, even to those closest to her.

The written word was another matter, however. And, the pages of her journal were filling up fast with all that she wished to pour from her heart. Since Hermione had never felt the need to hide anything away when writing, it did not take very long for her to admit, if only to herself, that she loved Severus Snape.

_Yes, he is often insufferable, but he is also good, noble and fascinating … just plain fascinating. I do not think I should ever get bored of him. Just being in his presence presents a challenge, and I enjoy a challenge,_ she wrote one early morning, as she waited for her breakfast to arrive. _If Ginny were to ask me now how I feel about Severus, and I had the courage to answer honestly, I would say that I think I love him_ …

"Hello, Hermione!" A deep, cheerful voice said, breaking into her thoughts. And there stood Harry, breakfast tray in hand and grinning madly.

"Harry!" Hermione cried, reaching out to him immediately. "What are you doing here?" Harry strode to the bedside table, relieved himself of the tray, and turned to hug her tightly.

"I was released yesterday. Ginny said I could bring in your breakfast tray as a surprise." He was still grinning as he dragged the visitors chair to her bedside.

"Well, I'm so glad to see you," she exclaimed. "Are you feeling quite well, then?" She watched him seat himself.

"Much better, thank you, and you?" he asked, his eyes darkening with concern.

"I am better, as well," she answered with a generous smile. "Thank you for sending 'get well' messages by way of Ginny. Thank Ron for me, too. It was really lovely to know you both were thinking of me."

Harry looked subdued, "We were really worried about you there at the beginning. Ginny kept us up-to-date on your condition. You should have seen Ron. He was nearly frantic," he continued with only a trace of his former grin. "It took a very stern talking to from Madam Pomfrey to settle him down."

Hermione returned his smile with a small, tentative one of her own. But, it did not quite reach her eyes. She did not say anything.

Harry, noticing her reticence on the subject of Ron, gently lifted her hand from her lap and held it in his own. "Hermione, is something wrong? The last time you visited Ron and I in our cubicle I noticed you seemed a bit uncomfortable with him, and just now you …"

"I'm fine, Harry," she said in clipped, no-nonsense tones, effectively cutting him off. "I'm just a bit tired is all."

_And, I do not want to talk about this with you._

Harry regarded her with quiet suspicion. "Alright," he conceded reluctantly.

"How is Ron doing?" Hermione's voice was too bright.

"He is doing well. Madam Pomfrey says he'll need to stay another week, which disheartens him because he can't visit you." Here Harry paused. "I hear you've been receiving another visitor, though," he said with studied carelessness. "Ginny says Snape has been here every day since you got here.

Hermione fidgeted with the edges of her blanket. She felt her cheeks reddening. "Yes," she whispered. She did not offer up any further information.

Harry squeezed her hand. "It's not like Snape to take such care of anyone."

"No," Hermione said, her eyes on her journal.

"Hermione, you know I will always listen to anything you have to say. Is there anything …"

"No, Harry," Hermione said quietly, her eyes pleading with him. "Just leave it."

Harry nodded regretfully. "Well, this has been fun," he said with a grin. "Let's not do this again really soon." Hermione laughed nervously, as he heart lessoned it frightened pounding. "I'll come back again. And, I promise to be more amusing next time." He squeezed her hand again and stood to go.

"Thanks for coming, Harry," she said sincerely. Uncomfortable as the visit had been, at least she knew Harry cared.

She smiled apologetically at him, as he left.

"I know he suspects something," she murmured to herself as she shoved her journal into her bedside table drawer. "What on earth would he think if he knew the truth?"

Suddenly Hermione felt exhausted. So much so, that she decided to leave her breakfast in favor of a nap. Slowly, her reeling mind began to slow down. Just before she fell into a comfortable sleep, she remembered that Snape was coming after supper, as he had each of the last few evenings. And, when her eyes finally slipped closed, she was contentedly smiling at the thought.

From the time Hermione awoke on her last day in the hospital wing, she waited anxiously for Madam Pomfrey to come to release her. She knew she must go directly to her rooms and stay there for the next week, but at least she need not stay in bed the whole time. The thought of moving around again was most pleasing to her, indeed.

With eyes darting to the entrance to her cubicle repeatedly, Hermione ate her breakfast, performed her toilette, and packed her belongings. Just as she finished her tasks, Madam Pomfrey entered in her usual brisk manner, along with, to Hermione's great surprise, Snape.

"Good morning, Miss Granger," Madam Pomfrey said cheerfully. Hermione smiled at both the matron and Snape. Snape's lips quirked in what was, for him at least, a half smile in return. "How are you feeling today?" Madam Pomfrey asked, as she crossed to Hermione's bed and began a perfunctory exam.

"Very well, thank you."

Madam Pomfrey moved her wand with practiced ease over her patient. "Mm-hm … yes. Everything appears to be in order," she said with satisfaction, as she straightened to her full height and stowed her wand away in her apron. "You can go. Severus will escort you to your rooms and has consented to monitor your continued recovery for the next seven days. All right?" Hermione nodded, and let her eyes flicker to Snape's, along with an appreciative smile. He only inclined his head at her in recognition.

No, Hermione had no problems with Snape continuing to care for her. There was no question that his bedside manner was extraordinary, at least as far as she was concerned. He seemed to know exactly what to do to make her comfortable and keep her amused. He had been gentleness itself when he had administered her potions or helped her to a drink of water, in the earlier days of her illness. He had always spoken softly and soothingly, thus saving wear and tear on her jangling nerves. And, he always seemed to know when she hadn't the strength to converse, and at those time simply read to her in his rich, deep baritone. She had fallen asleep twice just listening to that voice. His presence would be welcome for these reasons and so many more.

"Well, I'll leave you to it, then," Madam Pomfrey said, jarring Hermione from her musings. The matron's quill scratched a quick note on Hermione's chart. Then, she looked up at her assistant seriously. "I expect you will take better care of yourself from now on, won't you?"

Hermione new this was not a rhetorical question. "You'll need to get more rest and eat properly, unless you'd like to repeat this little episode," Madam Pomfrey spoke sharply, her lips pursed.

Hermione thought she heard Snape release a soft snort. "No, thank you, Madam Pomfrey. I'll not be back—as a patient, anyway," she replied, feeling properly cowed.

"Very well," the matron said, her sharp features softening a bit. "You may return to work next week, assuming your health is good. But, you'll only work half shifts with both Severus and with me at first. Agreed?"

"Yes, Madam Pomfrey," Hermione said deferentially.

The matron patted Hermione arms fondly. "Good. Be off with you, then." And, she disappeared behind the partition, with a nod to Snape, who returned the gesture curtly.

He came forward and laid his hand on Hermione's bag. She let out a nervous breath and caught his glance. "Poppy can be something of a terror when righteously indignant," he said with another half-smile. Hermione knew it was his way of commiserating with her.

"Yes," she said gratefully.

"She's right, though. And, she is only concerned for your welfare—as am I," he finished softly, his eyes briefly searching hers.

"I know," she whispered. Warmth was flooding her at his confession. "Thank you, Severus." 

There, she had said it. She had said his first name. His black eyes laughed at her obvious nervous determination. "You are welcome. Are you ready?" he asked, as he picked up her bag.

"More than," she affirmed, standing up. "I can't wait to be in my own rooms."

"I am sure," he answered. "I've never had much patience with confinement."

"I'll bet," she laughed good-naturedly. She could not imagine Snape being a compliant, docile patient. He must have driven Madam Pomfrey to distraction in the times he'd been in her care during his spying days.

"Indeed," Snape smirked. "Shall we?" He offered his arm, much to Hermione's surprise. She did her best to keep her face neutral as she gently tucked her hand into the crease of his elbow.

His gentle chuckle told her he was not fooled. And, he only chuckled again when she attempted to playfully glare him into silence. "You know, I really do appreciate all you've done for me these last several days, Severus," Hermione finally said sincerely. She did not look at him as she spoke. "It could not have been easy doing all the necessary brewing and visiting me every day."

At this, she felt his hand lightly touch hers as it clung to his arm. Her eyes shot up to his, and she felt shocked at the tenderness she saw there. "I would not have had it any other way." He paused, as he gently stroked the hand under his. "Don't you know that, Hermione?" His voice was tight with what Hermione could only guess was restrained emotion.

They had stopped walking and were now standing half facing each other. "Yes," she whispered raggedly. 

She could not tear her eyes away from the intensity of his gaze. Her heart was pounding, her breathing shallow. Slowly, Snape's face neared hers, and it seemed as though he would kiss her.

In that moment, she felt lost in his dark, probing eyes ...

But, then, without warning, he pulled back and the longing in his expression disappeared. She watched as his face fell into its usual unreadable lines. And Hermione was jarred back to reality, as he wordlessly led her to the steps that would take them to the dungeons. 

She turned her head to hide tiny smile.

_He almost kissed me!_ she thought triumphantly. She felt almost as happy as if he really had. For, she had learned that it was the little things, the small nuances, which meant so much when reading the intentions of Snape's complicated heart.

"Careful," he said, stepping down to the first stair. "Let me lead the way." He took her hand and helped her down one step at a time until they reached bottom. 

Hermione's weakened constitution, and stiff, unused muscles protested almost the entire way. She let out a barely audible groan.

Snape regarded her carefully. She had paled and was shaking slightly. "I fear the trip is too much for you. Are you all right?"

"Yes," she answered. But, her pinched face and the sheen of perspiration on her brow told another tale.

"No, you are not," Snape said decidedly. Then, to her very great surprise, he swept her carefully into his arms. He cradled her easily as he strode down the corridor towards Hermione's quarters.

"Severus!" she protested. "You cannot mean to carry me all the way to my rooms!"

"I do, indeed," His tone was inarguable. "Your quarters are not so very far, in any case." Hermione leaned into him and laid her head on his shoulder in acquiescence.

Neither Snape, nor Hermione spoke again until they reached her portrait hole. She murmured her password and Snape handed her into her rooms and gracefully swept in after her.

"To bed with you," he said, his tone implacable. "Now."

"Yes, sir," she teased weakly. But, he only gave her a hard stare, as he set her bag down. Then he wordlessly waved a languid hand at the hearth, thus Conjuring a fire in the grate.

Hermione went to her bed and sunk gratefully into it. She was glad she had put on a Muggle sweat suit that morning. It was soft and fleecy … perfect for sleeping in.

Snape did not come near her bed, but seemed to be observing her very closely. Only when he was satisfied she was comfortably settled did he speak again. "I will instruct the house-elves to bring you lunch in a few hours, and I will check on you then. I want you to stay in bed until that time."

Hermione felt a flash of indignance rush through her at his commanding tone, but let it die a quick death, so that the former warmth she'd felt earlier could reestablish itself.

"Yes, Severus," she agreed with mock sincerity. She turned a look of playful innocence on him, but he ignored it.

"Good," he said with a small nod. "Rest well." And, he left, his robes fluttering out the door behind him.

Hermione was so tired she could not muster the strength to analyse the intense scene she and Snape had just played out before descending the stairs.

"He almost kissed me," she murmured dreamily. Then, she fell instantly asleep.

Over the next seven days, Snape and Hermione fell back into the same routine they'd maintained during Hermione's stay at the hospital wing, with the exception that he checked on her each morning and at midday, besides his more protracted visits in the evenings.

With each moment they spent together, their relationship grew in scope and intensity. Snape did not attempt to kiss Hermione again. And, she was not surprised. For she knew him to be an honourable man. He would not, by any means, initiate something so intimate while she was still a semi-invalid in her quarters. It would have seemed too much like taking advantage.

Hermione had other visitors during the day. Ginny came at lunch, and Harry always spent a good deal of the afternoon with her. Even Professor McGonagall sat with her a time or two. But, no one ever came while Snape was with her in the evenings. Hermione had the sneaking suspicion that her friends, each for their own reasons, did not wish to intrude on that time.

Hermione kept waiting for either Ginny or Harry to try to press her for information regarding her burgeoning relationship with Snape, but they never did. And, this pleased her very much.

They did however keep her updated on Ron's condition. Midway through her at home recovery, Ginny informed her that Ron had been released and was now in the quarters he and Harry shared.

Hermione was heartily glad to hear her friend was doing so well. But, part of her knew, based on the not so subtle hints Harry had begun dropping that Ron's feelings had indeed been rekindled concerning her. And, she sensed a day of reckoning was near at hand. She was sure that Ron would not rest until he had spoken of all that was in his heart.

She knew what she must say, but she dreaded it. Her only hope was that Snape would speak to her first. Perhaps if her relationship with him became known, Ron would quietly recede into the background to nurse his broken heart without the confrontational scene Hermione was envisioning otherwise. She knew it was a cowardly wish, but she couldn't help wanting it to happen just the same.

As for Snape, she was certain he would wait to reveal his heart until he was sure she was well and truly recovered. She only wondered how long after she was returned to work he would wait. She hoped with all her heart it would not be long. And not just for the sake of her situation with Ron.

She found that, more and more, she wished to have a concrete understanding between them. She wanted to hear his heart. She was not so foolish as to believe him terribly romantic. No, Severus Snape was not a hearts and flowers type of wizard. Then again, that was not what she wanted anyway. She only wished to hear his true feelings—from his own mouth. His actions had most assuredly spoken volumes to her, but she needed to hear his confession, as well.

On the morning of the last day of her confinement, Snape arrived to escort her to the hospital wing for Madam Pomfrey's last assessment of Hermione's health. She had protested that she could find her way to her appointment on her own, but Snape had insisted on escorting her, so she had cheerfully given in.

As they stepped out of her rooms, Snape once again offered her his arm, just as he had done before. "Severus," Hermione laughed, "I am well. It is unlikely I will drop from exhaustion on this trip."

"I know that," he said. He was smiling down at her, but his voice was low, almost intimate, his arm still on offer.

"Oh," she said, her smile turning into an all out grin. And, she took his arm without further comment.

"You will be coming back to work tomorrow, then?" he asked, as they started out.

"I thought I might return today," she replied. "That is, after I get the all clear from Madam Pomfrey." She let her eyes slide to the side, observing his reaction.

He did not seem pleased.

"Don't you think you might want one more day of ease? Perhaps you've not …"

"Severus," Hermione interjected quietly. He looked at her, his face expressionless. "I understand your concern, but I think if I have to stay in my rooms one more day I'll go mad."

"I see." Snape's lips quirked as though he was trying to hide his amusement.

"At least let me sit with you in the Potions room for a bit. Maybe I could minimally assist in whatever you are brewing today." His eyes flashed at her disapprovingly. "I won't do anything more than chop ingredients, and I'll even sit on a stool the whole time, if you like." His gaze softened. "Please, Severus," she wheedled shamelessly.

His face, though uncertain, relaxed a bit more. "All right," he said, relenting uneasily. "But, if I say you must return to your rooms because I see you are tired, will you do so without argument?"

She smiled. She'd won. "Yes, Severus," she agreed happily.

Madam Pomfrey was really pleased with Hermione's much improved health, and, with another admonition that she not overdo, released her patient to return to work the aforementioned half-shift schedule. Hermione was overjoyed.

In the Potions room, Snape was solicitous of Hermione in the extreme. He nearly drove her up the wall with his watchfulness. He did indeed insist that she sit on her stool to watch him work. And, he only let her chop one or two ingredients.

Hermione felt frustrated, because she really felt quite well. She did not argue with her caretaker however, as she knew he would not hesitate to make her leave if she fought him.

And, after lunch, Snape did insist on walking her back to her rooms. She accepted his decision and his arm with good grace, though she was not at all enthusiastic about returning to her confinement.

The next day, Hermione expected Snape to give her more to do, but he was disinclined to do so, apparently. Instead, he kept his considerably intimidating eye upon her, and did not hesitate to put a stop to her participation in any activity he deemed too strenuous—which, at first, included anything taking her away from her stool.

She was allowed to do very little preparation for brewing. Snape opted instead to have her read research articles out of the Potions Journal, and summarise them, ostensibly for his personal research. Hermione, not being even remotely stupid, saw through her ex-professors ploy and proceeded to tease him mercilessly about it.

"I seem to remember a time when you said I'd get no 'coddling" from you," she said, waving the Potions Journal in the air, her eyes snapping with mock accusation. "So, what's this all about?"

"Hermione," he growled, shooting a warning glance at her as he continued to chop mallow root fiercely. "You heard what Madam Pomfrey said …"

"Indeed, I did, but I don't believe she meant you should put me in a glass case with a sign saying, 'For Display Only'!" She said this with a touch of heat and fire in her eyes.

Snape continued to glower at her. "A glass case…" he muttered disgustedly, but he did not relent … much to Hermione's chagrin.

_I need a plan,_ she thought later that night.

It was apparent to her that Snape would keep her tied to her stool for an undetermined length of time unless she did something about it. So, the next day she tried arguing, pouting, and the silent treatment—in that order. But, Snape who could be infuriatingly patient when he set his mind to it, did not take the bait. He only went about his business, looking for all the world as if he and his assistant had been engaging in the pleasantest of conversations.

After two hours of this, Hermione felt her frustration level reach critical mass.

She exploded like an atom bomb.

Throwing the Journal with all her might, she jumped off her stool, looking like a wrathful lioness, and started yelling loudly. "I simply will not sit here copying useless information for some fictitious project that YOU," here she pointed at Snape like a judge putting forth judgment. "don't really need! Either give me something useful to do, or I am leaving!" She threw down her quill for emphasis, and the room fell silent, except for Hermione's panting from the effort she'd just expended.

It was Snape's move.

For a moment he just stared at her, taking in her heaving sides, her wild hair, with its few escaping tendrils of chestnut strands framing her anger-darkened face. Then, with his eyes narrowed, he stood to his full height and folded his arms over his chest in the now familiar, "I'm about to redress you, but good", attitude Hermione had been so used to seeing in her school days.

_Oh, that's not good!_ she thought, her face blanching as an almost primal fear took her. She braced herself for the inevitable blast.

But, Snape only smirked at her. "Really, Hermione, such histrionics! If you wanted more to do, you might have just said something!" he said in quietly derisive tones.

"Ohhhhhh! You infuriating man!" She felt she wanted to fly at him, but had to content herself by just stomping a foot viciously. "You've been toying with me all along!"

Snape's face cracked into a full-fledged grin, and a long low rumble came from deep inside his chest. He was laughing—no, all out guffawing! Hermione looked aghast.

"You should see your face," Snape gasped between sniggers. "You look fit to kill!"

Hermione's eyes were hooded, her face set in grimly determined lines, if it was a little red with embarrassment. "Laugh away, Severus," she said coolly. "I'm getting something done."

_Point, set, match! Severus Snape is the winner!_ she thought grimly as she moved to her workbench with as much dignity as she could dredge up, given the circumstances, and began laying out her potions tools.

"Well, as you are expending much more energy badgering me, than you might if I allowed you to chop ingredients, I suppose you are right. You might as well do something, er—constructive," he said to her back, a hint of laughter still in his voice.

Hermione turned to look at him and rolled her eyes. "Thanks," she bit out.

"You are welcome," he said, with another smirk. And, peace was restored.

Snape had conceded to Hermione concerning her workload, but he did not do so concerning her time spent in the Potions room over the next few days. On that, he was firm. She would not be allowed to work more than a couple of hours each morning, and then it was back to her rooms for a rest before going to the hospital wing. No amount of eye-rolling or cajoling on Hermione's part made any difference.

And, though Hermione put on a good show about being annoyed with his insistence, she was really pleased on one level with his overprotective behavior. It meant that he cared.

On her last half day with Snape, Hermione suggested that she return to her rooms on her own, for they had been working on a very delicate and labor-intensive potion. But, he insisted on escorting her, as usual, just as she had known he would. So, after she placed a stasis charm on the cauldron, they set out.

Both Snape and Hermione were in high spirits, though Snape would have rather drunk bubotuber pus than openly admit it. Hermione could tell, however.

Oh, his expression was as unreadable as ever, but she had learned to read his eyes. They were terribly expressive, she'd recently realised. Wisely, she had said nothing to indicate she'd noticed this, lest he feel obliged to hide from her in that manner also.

Their walk was pleasant, if a little too sedate for Hermione's taste. They talked over that evening's plans to meet in Hermione's rooms, as they had been doing since her discharge from the hospital wing. She had been half afraid he would stop visiting once she was well enough to get along on her own. But, he had shown no inclination to do so. This fact gave Hermione great hope for the future.

She did wonder, in her moments alone, why he had not made any move toward solidifying their relationship. She imagined he was a bit fearful she would not respond as he hoped. Or, perhaps he was unsure of how to proceed. She wondered if he'd ever had a romantic relationship with a woman before.

In her more uncertain moments, she wondered if she was reading him all wrong in the first place. Perhaps all they had in his mind was a friendship of sorts … That thought, quite frankly, made Hermione's blood run cold.

Had she put her heart on the line for him, only to have him reject her? But, that was ridiculous wasn't it? There was that "almost" kiss to consider …

She, of course, was not thinking along these lines now, as they continued to draw nearer to her quarters. She was enjoying their closeness and shared laughter. Snape was gently holding her hand at his elbow, as was their usual habit now, and she was giggling at something he'd said with his usual dry sarcasm …

Then, her mirth-filled eyes looked from Snape to her door and she froze. Standing there, with his hands shoved into his jeans pockets, with a shocked expression on his face, was none other than Ron Weasley. 


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Ron's eyes were flashing like twin lightning storms as he took in the intimate attitude with which Snape and Hermione were conducting themselves.

"Ron!" Hermione cried. "How are you?" Her eyes were round as saucers.

She had to remind herself she was doing nothing wrong, for Ron's glare clearly imparted his impression that she was. She did not release Snape's arm.

"Mr. Weasley," Snape intoned with stiff politeness.

Ron nodded briefly in response to Snape's greeting, his mouth tightened with anger. Then, he turned his full attention to Hermione. "I came for a visit, since you didn't come to me." His eyes flashed again as he spoke with forced lightness.

_Oh, dear God_ … Hermione groaned inwardly.

"I'm sorry, Ron," she said quietly, feeling all the more as though she had been caught out. "I've been busy," she finished lamely.

"So, I see," he murmured, looking away briefly. "Is now a convenient time for us to talk? I could come back …" His words were polite. His tone was anything but.

Hermione thought it best to get the confrontation over with. "Of course, Ron," she said with gentle acquiescence.

"I don't think it is wise," Snape said suddenly in even tones. Hermione looked at him and noted his eyes were full of concern. "You need rest before you report to the hospital wing, Hermione." He was staring at her, as if willing her to heed him.

"I won't stay long," Ron said tightly. He was glaring at Snape.

"It's all right, Severus," Hermione said placatingly. And, she wished she could add that she would see him later, but she knew Ron was on the verge of an explosion, and such assertions would only send him sky high.

Hermione and Snape exchanged significant glances, and she squeezed his arm to reassure him. Severus pursed his lips in response. "Very well," he said in clipped tones, as he returned Ron's glare. Ron tensed up, but did not quail. With one last glance at Hermione, he spun on his heel and strode away.

Ron looked fit to burst, his eyes snapping and his face red. Hermione hurried to say her password and curtly waved him inside without looking at him.

"You first," he muttered impatiently. So, Hermione skittered through the portrait hole with Ron fast at her heels.

"What was that all about?" Ron growled as soon as the door closed behind him. He was obviously barely holding his temper in check.

"What do you mean, Ron?" Hermione asked, her voice all innocence tinged with the slightest hint of challenge.

"Oh, don't pretend you don't know what I'm talking about!" Ron scowled. "Snape! You were walking with him! You were holding his arm, Hermione!" Ron did not raise his voice. It was deadly calm, which belied the force of his wrath much more effectively.

"Yes, I was," Hermione said without deprecation. Her eyes were somewhat defiant. "What of it?"

"What of it?" Ron was incredulous now. "You were acting as though you actually liked him!"

"I do like him, Ron!" Hermione exclaimed before thinking. Then her eyes widened with shock and her cheeks reddened. Her hand flew to her errant mouth with a light "smack".

Ron's eyes narrowed knowingly. "So, that's how it is, is it?" he said, looking suddenly defeated.

For a moment, Hermione said nothing, as she let her hand fall slowly to her side. She lifted her chin, and leveled an uncompromising gaze on her gobsmacked friend.

"You do not deny it?" Ron asked quietly. He looked away as he said it.

When she still did not answer him, he lowered himself wearily into an armchair before the fire. Hermione, feeling that the worst of the storm was over, moved softly to his side and rested her hand on his shoulder.

"No, Ron," she whispered. "I will not deny it."

For a moment they both stared into the crackling fire, each lost in his or her own thoughts. The reflection of the flames danced in Ron's unblinking eyes.

"I see," he said finally in regretful tones. "Then, I suppose it would do no good to remind you that, now the war is over, I would like to try talk about restarting our relationship?" The inflection of his voice suggested that this was a question to which he all ready knew the answer.

Hermione looked down on him, her eyes pitying. "No, Ron. None at all." There were tears in her voice, but they did not fall from her eyes. "It's not because of Severus alone …" she began. She noted Ron's wince at her use of Snape's first name.

"I know," Ron interrupted her, raising his hand dismissively. He glanced at her for a moment, his expression pained. He looked away before continuing. "I think I knew that the day you visited Harry and I in the hospital wing just before you got sick."

"Yes." It was all she could think to say.

Then, without warning, Ron was out of his chair and pacing before the fire. He ran his hand through his hair. "I really blew it, then. Didn't I?" He said with a shaky laugh and a bitter smile. Hermione sat on the arm of the chair he had just vacated, watching him with quiet compassion. "I should have never broken it off with you last year."

"Ron, no," Hermione said, wishing to assuage him. "It just wasn't meant to be, that's all," she finished firmly.

Ron stared at her for a moment. He opened his mouth as though to speak again. Then, he only nodded, but he didn't seem entirely convinced.

Hermione went to him and tentatively took his hand. "I know you'll need time," she said. "But, I hope we'll still be good friends once you've accepted …" She stopped herself, as his eyes darkened and he tried to draw his hand away. "You're still important to me, Ron," she said, biting her lip anxiously and clinging to his hand.

Ron nodded slowly. Hermione could see the struggle going on inside of him as she observed his mobile face. His eyes were angry and hurt. Hermione waited with round, pleading eyes for the outcome of his internal battle.

In the end, Ron nodded again and gently took her into his arms and laid his forehead on her slight shoulder. He heaved a pained sigh, as Hermione wrapped her arms around him comfortingly.

Just at that moment, Hermione heard her portrait hole door open with its characteristic soft "scrape". Both Ron and Hermione looked up to see Snape's imposing, black form filling the doorway. But, as he was in shadow, Hermione could not see his face.

His voice was as cold as winter when he spoke. "Excuse me, I was only concerned for Miss Granger," he gritted out mockingly. "But, I can see I needn't have bothered." The words were like blows to Hermione's heart.

"Severus, no!" she cried. "You misunderstand." She moved toward him swiftly. Her hand touched his arm and her eyes locked to his. She gasped at the raw pain she saw pooling there.

Snape pulled his arm away from her as though her touch seared him. "On the contrary, _Miss Granger,_" he said with quiet anger. "I understand all too well." And he all but disappeared, before she could say another word.

"Hermione, I'm sorry …" Ron said with a sigh. "Maybe if I go talk to him …"

Hermione felt shell shocked. "No, Ron," she said with a sad smile. "I'll go." She shook herself, as if to dispel the sorrow that threatened to overwhelm her.

Now was the time for action.

"I'm sorry I can't talk anymore just now. Maybe later, all right?"

She was all ready half way through the portrait hole when, suddenly, she turned and strode purposefully to her bedside table, ripped open its drawer, and pulled out her journal. Ron watched with faintly curious eyes as she hurriedly muttered a Shrinking Charm over it and slipped it into a pocket in her robes.

"I think we've said all we need to say, Hermione," Ron replied grimly. "Just go."

Hermione nodded slowly and turned away.

"Hermione," Ron called at the last second. She turned back once more. "Good luck," he said with a weak smile.

"Thanks, Ron. That means a lot." And, with a small parting wave, she set out toward the Potions room.

For a moment, panic threatened to overtake her, as she sped through the corridor.

_What the bloody hell am I going to do?_ she thought fearfully. She wrung her hands, as her stomach twisted within her. _I could lose him, and we haven't even had a proper start!! _

Then, a wholly new thought came to her. Snape would never back down from a fight, and neither must she back down from this. She must go after him with the set determination that he must listen to her. She may make him as angry as he could ever remember being. But, he would have to respect her persistence … her courage to take him on.

Yes, no matter what he said or did, she must be prepared to stand her ground. She must take whatever he decided to dish out.

_Then, that's what I'll just have to do! Severus Snape, do your worst!_ she thought, as she stomped up to the double doors and pushed with all her might. All she got for her mighty effort was thrown to the floor on her backside with bone jarring force. _What the hell is the matter with the doors?_ She jumped straight up, nothing daunted.

A few minutes of increasingly agitated knocking later, Hermione felt frantic as she tried for the third time to push through the familiar double doors. Snape's wards had let her get this far, but the bloody doors were not to be breached.

_I can't believe this is happening,_ she thought, as she began pounding angrily once again.

"For heaven's sake, Severus!" she called, not even attempting to hide her frustration. "Open the bloody doors! We need to talk!"

The only answer she received for her pains was an eloquent silence.

"Oh, bother!" Hermione kicked the door and felt the reverberating pain run from her toe to her hip. "Damn!" she cried. "Severus, I'll stay out here all day and all night if I have to! Open up!" She banged again. Then a truly evil idea formed itself in her mind. "Or, perhaps I should just tell you what I have to say from out here," she continued with her jaw set stubbornly. "I certainly hope no one happens by right now!"

At that, the doors were flung open with such force that they hit the walls on either side with a sound "crack". Snape stood just inside, looking absolutely furious. "You wouldn't dare!" he snarled.

Hermione lifted her chin rebelliously, her eyes sparkling with determination. "Try me!" 

Snape's eyes widened. "Ridiculous, idiot girl!" he muttered acidly. But, he stood aside, allowing Hermione to flounce in triumphantly.

Her demeanor told nothing of the sick feeling she had inside. She knew she only had one shot at repairing the damage, and she intended to use it wisely.

So, with seemingly easy, purposeful steps she moved to her workbench. Snape's onyx gaze followed her suspiciously, as she ran her hand almost reverently over the table top. For some reason, she did not understand, being near her work station inspired confidence in her … a confidence she very much needed just now as she was to face down a presumably hurt and angry Snape, and come out of it not only unscathed but victorious.

Finally, she turned to him and leaned a hip against the table's edge, trying to look as calmly reasonable as possible. "I wish to explain what you saw just then in my rooms," Hermione began without preamble.

Snape's eyes became mere slits and his face hardened perceptibly. "You need not explain anything to me, Miss Granger. What you do in your private time is your own business. I've no interest in it whatsoever."

During this speech, Snape had moved to his own desk and had assumed a remarkably similar stance to Hermione's current position.

_So … squaring off, are we?_ she thought grimly.

But, she only eyed him disbelievingly. "Your behaviour suggests otherwise, Severus," she said shortly. 

He snorted derisively. "I do not know to what you are referring," he countered with an air of condescension.

"All right then," she said huffily. "Why have you suddenly reverted to calling me 'Miss Granger', again, if I've done nothing to offend you? And, why did I have to all but beat the doors down to speak to you?" she asked, struggling to keep her voice even.

He stared daggers at her, but did not reply.

Hermione rolled her eyes and pushed off from the workbench, agitation in every line of her body, as she drew near to him. "I believe, Severus, that the time has come for both of us to stop dancing around the truth and admit how we feel about each other. Don't you?" She stopped her advance about five feet away from him, sensing it would be unwise to press him too hard.

Snape drew himself up to full height and grasping his cloak in both pale hands gracefully wrapped it about himself. With his glinting obsidian stare and cruelly sneering mouth, he was a most intimidating figure, indeed.

"You assume too much, girl!" he hissed in icy tones, as he looked down his prodigious nose at her.

But, Hermione was not fooled. She had seen too much—had been through too much with Snape not to know he was only posturing in an attempt to drive her away and protect his heart.

"I don't think I assume too much at all, Severus," she said soberly.

Without warning, Snape slammed his fist down on his desk. "Impertinence!" he bellowed, his eyes fiery. Hermione held in check her natural reaction to jump at his outburst and continued to gaze at him calmly. "I am unwilling to countenance any more of your foolishness, Miss Granger," he said coldly, reverting to his usual controlled demeanor with lightning speed. "You. May. Go!" he finished pointedly.

Hermione felt white hot anger, mixed with indignance at his summarily dismissing her, as though she was still his student. It boiled rapidly to the surface. "No!" she shot back loudly, putting her hand on her hips and making ready to display her temperamental side. "I will not be treated like a child!" Snape's eyes registered shocked surprise at her outburst. He opened his mouth to retort, but she only shouted him down. "If you've not the courage to say what is in your heart, then I do!" She moved a step nearer to him. "The fact is …" she paused for a breath, then plunged on. "I love you, you infuriating man! And I want more than anything to be with you! What you saw in my rooms was Ron and I saying good-bye after I told him I did not want anything more than friendship with him!"

Hermione was terrifying in this moment. Her face was flushed, her hair flying, as she gesticulated wildly. She looked like a wrathful goddess. Snape did not attempt to speak again, but stood in open awe, no less because of her manner than her startling words.

_She is openly declaring herself to me_ …he thought in shock. He felt as though he had fallen into an alternate universe. He could not find his feet.

For a moment the two just stared at each other. Then, Hermione was off on her tangent again. "Oh, I've no more patience for this!" And, with that she whipped out her wand with one hand, and rummaged in her robes with the other for her shrunken journal.

"Engorgio!" she spat impatiently, as she prodded the tiny book with her wand. "Here," she said, shuffling through the pages of the restored journal with quick, precise movements. "This will explain everything." And, she shoved the open book into Snape's hands roughly. "Read it, Severus," she said commandingly, daring him with her eyes to refuse. "I've got to go to work." She sped away from him and did not look at him again as she stormed out of the room, the wake of her fury swirling behind her.

Hermione stomped all the way to the Great Hall, fuelled by her powerful anger. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew she wanted to remain angry for as long as possible, for she sensed that the minute her wrath dissipated the aching of her heart would dominate her emotions, and that wouldn't be comfortable, at all.

Her fury held as she waded through the crowd in the Entrance Hall. She barely noticed the witches and wizards she was bowling over in her mindless haste, much less the dirty looks her victims threw at her.

Elbowing her way into the Great Hall, she threw herself down at a half-filled table and started roughly grabbing whatever food first came to hand. She didn't see Ginny slip into the seat opposite her, as she muttered heatedly to herself,.

By then, she was stabbing heartlessly at a chicken breast and growling. "Wouldn't even listen to me! The great git!"

A soft hand reached across the table and covered the hand clutching at the fork. "Hey. What did that chicken do to you?" Ginny asked softly.

Hermione closed her eyes and bit at her bottom lip in an effort to keep back a sharp retort. She felt inexplicably irritated at Ginny's intrusion. "Nothing," she bit out sullenly. And, she began viciously stirring her potatoes.

Ginny took her hand away and watched her friend for a moment. "Don't tell me," she said finally, "let me guess. It's Snape, isn't it?"

Hermione's head shot up so fast, she felt a sharp pain in her neck. "How did you know?" She was glaring, without meaning to do so.

Ginny was not phased. "Just a lucky guess," she replied with a wry smile. "And … I saw Ron a bit ago and he …"

"Oh …" Hermione groaned, and lowered her eyes to her much abused lunch miserably.

Suddenly, all the fight went out of her. She felt like a deflating balloon.

_Goodbye, anger—hello, pain._

"Oh, Ginny!" she whined. "It was just awful!" She pushed her lunch away and dropped her head to the table dejectedly.

Ginny eyed her friend sympathetically. "Not as bad as all that, surely."

"Oh, yes!" Hermione nodded emphatically. "You should have seen us just now. He was so stubborn! He wouldn't listen to anything I had to say! Just kept trying to get me to leave!"

"He was hurt, Hermione," Ginny said, softly recriminating. "And, more than a little jealous, I'd imagine."

Hermione considered this. Then, in a flash of memory, she saw Snape's pained eyes as they were in the doorway of her rooms, just before he'd left her. "Perhaps," she said primly.

"Now who's being stubborn? You might as well stop hiding from the truth, Hermione. It's as plain as the nose on your face," Ginny admonished with no trace of amusement on her pretty face.

And Hermione pinked up, giving her friend an embarrassed grin. "All right," she said, finally conceding the point. "You're right."

Ginny nodded. "From what Ron said …"

"Oh, Ron." Hermione dropped her head in an open palm with a groan. "How is he?" she asked in a small voice as she peeped out at Ginny from behind her hand.

"He'll live," Ginny answered glibly. "He just wishes he hadn't thrown you over when he had you."

Hermione sighed. She just could not bring herself to discuss Ron's disappointment with Ginny right now. "He was really great, you know. He offered to go talk to Severus, but I said I'd better do it."

"Severus, is he?" Ginny said with a chuckle.

"Yes," Hermione said tightly. She was in no mood for teasing.

Ginny took the hint and immediately rearranged her features accordingly. "What are you going to do?"

"I already did it," Hermione mumbled.

"Oh?" Ginny raised an eyebrow questioningly.

"Yes, I went to his Potions room and beat on the door until he let me in. We had a bit of a row. And, when I saw he wasn't listening to me, I told him that I love him and stomped out … that is, after I gave him my journal to read as proof of my feelings." Hermione said all this very matter-of-factly, enumerating her every action on the fingers of one hand.

Ginny stared at her in open amazement, her blue eyes wide, her jaw dropped. "You told him that you love him?" she squeaked as she clutched at both of Hermione's hands.

Hermione regarded her evenly, but there was a flash of daring in her chocolate brown eyes. "Yes," she said, completely unruffled. After all, she had only done what she must.  
"I did."

"Well, good for you!" Ginny burst forth, shaking their clasped hands together and looking volumes of approval.

Hermione smiled, happy she had not shocked her friend. In fact, she noted with some satisfaction, that Ginny looked somewhat impressed by Hermione's boldness.

"That's that, then!" Ginny said, as though there was nothing more to be concerned about. Hermione looked at her questioningly.

But, Ginny's expression was serenely confident. "He'll read your journal, see that you really do love him, and the two of you will live happily ever after. Simple!"

Hermione laughed, but the sound was hollow. "I don't think it will be that easy, Ginny," she said, a note of cynicism in her voice.

"Nonsense!" Ginny insisted. "He loves you, Hermione!"

"Look," Hermione said seriously. "I won't deny that Severus cares something for me. But, love? I don't know."

"Of course he loves you! All the signs point to it!" Ginny said forcefully. Then, she remembered where they were, and that this was a private conversation "You wait and see, Hermione," she continued as she leaned toward her friend, her voice lowered, but no less insistent. "As soon as he reads your heart, in black and white, he'll speak right up. I just know it!"

"I hope so." It was all Hermione could force out past the lump of fearful uncertainty in her throat. 


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Snape, in the meantime, was seated at his desk, Hermione's journal opened before him, a dazed expression on his rather haggard face. He hardly knew where to begin filing away all the new and important information he'd been made privy to this morning. He felt if he didn't somehow organise his jumbled thoughts he'd go mad.

"I'll just start at the beginning," he breathed, rubbing his tired eyes and dropping a hand on the small leather-bound book.

He began sifting through his mind until he picked up the thought-thread in which he had found Ron Weasley holding Hermione in her rooms before the fire. He felt anew the burning jealousy that had filled his heart then.

The pain had been nearly intolerable!

He had never felt such a thing before, and had been at an absolute loss as to how to handle it. So, he had responded the only way he knew how … the way he always responded when thrust into uncertainty. He'd gotten angry.

When Hermione had tried to soothe him—to touch him—he had jerked away from her as if on instinct; as if to preserve himself from a deadly enemy. He'd seen the pain of his rejection in her eyes, but had distrusted it … to say the least. All he could think about was getting away from her with his dignity still in tact. So, he'd left her without another word, determined to return as fast as he could to the sanctuary of his rooms.

All the way there he'd worked frantically to close his heart to her. He had been a fool, he'd tried to convince himself, to have given her access to it in the first place.

What had he been thinking?

She was young, attractive, and had her whole life ahead of her. How had he allowed himself to become so delusional as to believe she'd ever find anything he had to offer her attractive? He was not handsome, by any stretch of the imagination. He was surly, reclusive, and set in his ways. It was only right she should attach herself to a young man, closer to her own age, whose company she could actually enjoy.

From these thoughts, it was no stretch to arrive at self-loathing, and Snape was wallowing in it almost gratefully by the time he'd reached his rooms. It was such a familiar place to be …

"You are an idiot!" he'd chastised himself harshly.

And, sweeping through the double doors, he'd fully determined to never leave his refuge again. As he'd re-keyed his wards at the doors to deny _Miss Granger_ entrance into his domain, he had determined he would release her from her duties at the earliest possible moment—preferably before she attempted to come to work tomorrow. If he was very careful, he would never have to lay eyes on her again.

He would forget about her in a month …

But, the irritating little chit had not been content to only wring every last drop of life's blood from his aching heart. She had felt it necessary to make a scene outside his Potions room, as well. She'd even had the nerve to threaten to shout out the whole business right out in the corridor if he didn't let her in!

How dare she!

So, he'd let her in, with every intention of sending her screaming from his rooms, never to return! But, the little Gryffindor spit-fire had been ready for him, it seemed, and she had taken complete control over the situation from the moment she'd stepped into the room.

He'd pulled out all the stops, using every tactic in his considerable psychological arsenal—all to no avail. For, she had only blustered, yelled, and positively refused to bend to his will.

She had been magnificent …

Then, she'd said she loved him.

Snape paused in his ruminations, and his face softened at the memory. A small twitch of the lips, which could only be called a smile graced his countenance. The crease between his eyes smoothed out.

He had been so taken aback at her admission that, once again, he couldn't land on a proper response. In short, Severus Snape, possibly for the first time in his life, was speechless.

He had only been able to watch in shocked silence as she impatiently pulled out a book, marked a place in it, and all but shoved it into his hands. By the time he had fully recovered himself she was gone …

And, now here he sat, staring at the black and white evidence that her earlier profession of love for him was true. He could not deny it, even if he was yet to understand it.

_How long must I wait for Severus to speak to me about our relationship! I feel that I will not be able to hold out much longer! I long to tell him all that is in my heart! I long to tell him how I love him! _

Snape had read this entry over and over with avid eyes. At first, he just couldn't quite convince himself of the sentiment behind these inexpressibly sweet words. In fact, upon his first reading of them, he had literally slammed the little book shut, half in fear, half in fury. Was she having him on?

No. He knew Hermione could not be that cruel.

So, he'd found the entry again and forced himself to read it again and again, until disbelief had been overcome in him and the words became a soothing balm to his harrowed up soul.

_She loves me,_ he thought, his mental voice full of awe. _And I love her._ He felt light-headed, almost giddy._ How did this happen?_

He leaned back in his chair and let out a tension laced breath. "It doesn't matter how it happened," he told himself firmly, feeling acceptance flood him at last. "All that matters is that it's really true. All that remains, is for me to decide exactly what to do about it."

Hermione's afternoon at work was nothing short of hell on earth. Not only was she in a nervous state, wondering what Snape's reaction was going to be to her earlier behavior. But, she had Zacharias Smith on her case load again. He was, as usual, difficult in the extreme. So much so, that Hermione was made very glad that she was still working only half shifts.

She did not relish leaving the hospital wing, however, because she did not know what she would face. Indecision tore at her thoughts. On the one hand, what if Snape was not waiting to speak with her after work? She didn't think she could bear not knowing his thoughts right away. On the other hand, what if what Snape had to say wasn't what she wished to hear. What if he rejected her?

As Hermione cautiously stepped out of the hospital wing, she half expected to find Snape waiting for her in the shadows, his arms crossed over his chest, a vicious scowl firmly in place. Cringing inwardly, if not outwardly, she let her eyes sweep the corridor anxiously.

No Snape.

She heaved a momentary sigh of relief and started out for her rooms. All the way there, she fought with herself. Would Snape come to her tonight? And, if he did, what would happen? Should she apologise for her outburst right away, or wait to hear what he had to say first? Her mind ground away at her mercilessly. 

Exasperated, she threw up her hands. "I'm being stupid," she told herself scathingly. "He either wants me or he doesn't. It won't help anything for me to make myself miserable over this."

For a moment, she felt less out of control. The knot in her stomach loosened the merest bit. But, she couldn't turn off her reeling mind, and she felt her heart clenching within her once again.

When she arrived at her rooms, Snape was not waiting outside her door. Her insides dropped to her toes with disappointment. In that moment, she knew that she just wished to get the unavoidable confrontation over with … no matter how it was destined to turn out. Hermione wanted Snape, but if he didn't want her, she wished to know it sooner rather than later.

However, she was by no means desperate enough to go to him again. She had had enough of gut-wrenching confrontations for one day.

No, she would wait for him to come to her … no matter if it killed her … she would wait.

And she did wait—all evening long. But, there was no knock on the door … not even a note. By around eleven p.m., Hermione felt as if she could stand no more of the silence and uncertainty. Her feelings had ranged the emotional gambit, going from hurt, to embarrassed, to angry, to careless, and back to hurt several times.

In desperation, she tried to think of other things, but that afternoon's scene just kept playing itself over and over again in her mind, until she thought she would scream. Images of Snape's angry face and the remembrance of his spiteful words pummeled her poor, exhausted mind, stirring her up to near frenzied pitch.

_I simply cannot keep doing this!_ she inwardly whined.

If there was one time when Hermione felt completely justified in taking a sleeping draught, this was it. 

"But I don't have any down here!" she cried, her frustration level hitting critical mass. "I'll have to go to the hospital wing for it!"

So, donning her robes angrily, she headed to her portrait hole door. She pushed it open, and ran straight into …

"Oh, Severus!" she cried, as her heart thudded sickeningly in her chest. "I am sorry, I didn't see you!" Hermione cheeks were burning, and she could not force herself to look up at him.

"I was just coming to speak with you," he said in a low, impossibly gentle voice. "But, if you were going out …"

"No!" Hermione all but squealed, dragging her reluctant eyes to his face. She cleared her throat in an attempt to control her tone. "I was only going to Madam Pomfrey for a sleeping draught …" Her words trailed off. She dropped her gaze once again in shame.

She had said too much. Now he would know she was having trouble resting. And, she was sure, he'd also know why.

_Here comes the loaded jab, dripping with sarcasm._

"I see," he said softly. Hermione tried not to hear what she thought was a slightly sympathetic lilt in the two simple words.

_I'm sure you do._ Hermione could not help but cringe inside, to think he might be feeling sorry for her. _And why are you not chewing me up and spitting me out by now?_

"Won't you come in?" she asked miserably, her eyes still on her shoes.

She didn't wait for his answer to her rather ungracious invitation, but turned back into her rooms. She felt, rather than saw Snape follow her. She had a sense of foreboding that she didn't even try to shake off. All the certainty she had felt in previous days about her true place in his heart had dissipated. She now felt sure his gentle, almost tender manner meant he was going to attempt to let her down as easily as possible.

_So, I was wrong all along, was I? He really doesn't feel anything special for me._ She felt sick as she gestured to him to sit down. But, he only gave her a curt shake of his head.

He looked, without a doubt, anxious to say what he had come to say so he could be gone. "I wished to speak to you about this morning's little debacle," he began, his black eyes fixed on Hermione, his expression once again unreadable.

_So, it's a lecture first, and then the let down,_ she thought dully. _All right, then._

Hermione's stomach churned, but she did not look away again. She'd take whatever was coming with as much dignity as she could muster.

When she did not speak, Snape continued in subdued tones. "I wanted to apologise for jumping to conclusions when I saw you with Mr Weasley. I should have given you a chance to explain."

Hermione felt a shockwave hit her system full force. It took all she had not to let her jaw drop.

_What!!!_

She had expected him to chastise her for her over the top behaviour, not apologise to her. Her expression mirrored her extreme confusion. "But …"

"No, let me finish, Hermione," he said, taking a step nearer to her, his face tight with near desperation, "while I've courage enough to do so."

Hermione's mouth shut with a clatter of her teeth, and her eyes dilated. She felt she might bottom out at any moment.

_What??!! Snape needs courage … Snape is admitting his courage might fail him? Snape is admitting he was wrong?_

Surely the earth had turned upside down while Hermione hadn't been looking. A tiny gasp escaped her, but if Snape heard it he did not give any indication of it.

"I have something for you," he said as he reached into his robes to reveal her journal, once again in miniature form. "Engorgio," he muttered, waving a pale hand over it, before handing it to her, fully restored.

Hermione grabbed the precious book and clutched it to her chest. "Did you read it?" she asked, her voice barely audible, her face stricken. 

This was the moment of truth.

"Yes," he said softly. And, in an instant, he was standing directly before her. 

Snape was so near, Hermione was obliged to look up at him. She could feel warmth radiating from him. His eyes delved deeply into hers, and his long, cool hand came up to cup her cheek gently.

"Severus," she breathed, leaning into his touch and letting her eyes drop closed for a moment. "I meant what I said to you this morning …"

"Shhh." A long finger pressed her lips. Her eyes opened to see him looking at her intently. "I know, Hermione." He tilted his head down, so that she could only see the ebony blackness of those mesmerising eyes. "I only regret I did not speak to you before circumstances became so dire." He drew her to him and wrapped his arms around her waist possessively. Hermione sighed and laid her head on his chest. All the tension of the last several hours began flowing out of her. "You were right," he continued. "We should have settled things between us before now."

He gently lifted her face to his with the tips of his fingers. And the look in his eyes nearly melted her, for it spoke so clearly of his heart. She felt her knees go weak and her own heart pound, in response. And, as she leaned into him, she felt his arms tighten around her.

"I love you, Hermione," he said in reverent tones, making tears spring to her eyes. "I cannot hope to ever deserve you. And, I cannot promise I'll never hurt you again, for I am not an easy man. I have little to give you … only my heart … if you'll have it."

Hermione's own heart thrilled at his confession, and her tears fell freely as she threw her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly. "Oh, yes!" she cried and let out a shaky little laugh. "Severus, yes!"

When she pulled back slightly, she saw a flash of his eyes and then his lips fervently caught hers. Hermione melted into him, fitting perfectly into his embrace. She felt his heart beating through his chest and against her own, and she knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that it beat only for her.

In that moment, time stood still, and all that had transpired between them, from that long ago conversation in the Headmistress's office until now, flashed through each of their minds and hearts. All those seemingly unconnected moments suddenly flowed together, ushering in the realisation that they had finally met their expected end. They had been meant for each other all along. And, it was this certain knowledge that knit their hearts together in an unbreakable bond.

Epilogue—

_Two weeks later_ …

Hermione sat in quiet agitation in a plush seat in the opulent waiting area of the office belonging to the Minister for Magic, Rufus Scrimgeour. She felt exhausted, overwrought, and—very, very nervous.

_God, they've been in there for two hours!_ she thought anxiously. _What is going on?_

And, she was up and pacing again.

"They" were Severus, Harry, Minister Scrimgeour, and two hulking, grim-faced Aurors that Hermione did not know. Severus' day of reckoning was at hand, and he must give full account to the authorities for his actions as a Death Eater and then later as a Spy for the Order.

Hermione's only comfort as she waited for the outcome of the meeting was that Harry was in that office with Severus. She knew that the Minister, who it was clear did not look upon Severus Snape with anything approaching fair-mindedness, would feel compelled to listen very carefully to anything that Harry had to say. Harry was, after all, the Boy Who Lived and the Saviour of the wizarding world. It would not look good in the public's eyes if Scrimgeour dismissed him out of hand.

"It shouldn't be long now, dear," a sympathetic, melodic voice intoned, and Hermione looked up at the portrait on the wall opposite from her seat, and nodded absently.

Hermione and Myra the Magnificent, the subject of said portrait, had become good friends in the last two hours. Myra, dressed in flowing sapphire robes, her golden hair falling in long curls down her back, was quite beautiful. She was draped gracefully over what looked to be an ornate throne wrought of purest silver and deep red velvet cushioning.

For the first half hour of her wait, Myra had regaled Hermione with the story of her life. Gratefully, Hermione had listened, letting the soothing tones of her host's voice and her dancing blue eyes entrance her, thus keeping her taut and straining nerves from snapping.

As it turned out, Myra had had a very full, if difficult life. She had been the wife of Martin Malkirk, the Minister for Magic from 1407 to 1490. He had been a handsome and well-liked wizard, but a bit of a rake apparently. He had had an eye for a beautiful witch—or, several if his wife's account was to be believed. And, Myra had been obliged to use her considerable powers and ingenuity to keep him faithful to her.

Hermione had laughed when Myra had cheerily described the time she'd caught her husband with one of his mistresses in what she delicately termed "a compromising position" right in her own home.

"Oh, my dear!" Myra had said fervently, her eyes sparkling, a delicate blush on her pretty cheeks. "I cannot tell you how satisfying it was to turn that woman's hair into a writing mass of serpents! And, Martin! Well, I assure you, he was not half so handsome once I'd hexed him with a disfiguring curse. His face was really quite hideous to behold. He refused to leave our rooms for a week! Most peaceful week of our marriage, really," Myra had finished thoughtfully. 

"But, enough about me," Myra had said, turning a radiant smile on her avidly listening audience. "Tell me about your young man. Is he honourable?" There had been a hint of apprehension in her eyes.

"Oh, yes," Hermione had quickly assured her new friend. She had not wished Severus to escape the clutches of Rufus Scrimgeour only to have to face Myra's wrath. "I've no cause to doubt his intentions."

"Good," Myra had replied approvingly, her expression one of satisfaction. "Just keep in mind I am here if you need any—advice."

"I will remember."

That had been an hour and a half ago, and Hermione's laughter had died away, leaving her with a sick feeling in her stomach. As she continued to pace, she could feel Myra's sympathetic eyes upon her.

Suddenly, the door to the Minster's inner office opened, and Hermione felt her heart skip a beat. She watched with wide eyes as the Minister, looking quite sober, appeared with Harry right beside him.

_Oh, God! Where is Severus?_ She tried to catch Harry's eye, but he was still in a whispered conversation with Scrimgeour.

Then, Severus appeared, the two Aurors walking behind him. Hermione tried to see past Harry and the Minister. Was Severus bound? Were the Aurors about to take him away to Azkaban. She felt her heart racing.

Harry shook Minister Scrimgeour's hand and they parted to reveal Severus and the Aurors … who moved to shake Harry's hand, too, before walking right past Hermione and out the door.

"Severus," Hermione's voice squeaked. His obsidian gaze found her soft chocolate one, and he smiled, reaching his hand out to her. "Thank God!" she whispered as she hastened to take it. Relief flooded her.

He was safe. They could finally get on with their lives.

_A year and a half later_ …

"Severus," Hermione whispered without opening her eyes.

No answer.

"Severus," she whined.

"Huh." It was a grunt more than anything.

"Don't you hear him?" she hissed. "He's up, and it's your turn."

"Oh …" But, he did not move. The wails continued, and Hermione waited a few beats before shooting up in bed and poking her husband viciously.

"Severus!"

"What!" He jumped up and out of the warm bed, crying out pitifully as his bare feet hit cold flagstone. Hermione was glaring at him.

"It's your turn," she pressed. "Augustus needs your attention." Her voice was calm, but left no room for argument.

"Yes," he growled, as he pulled on his black robe and stuffed his feet into his slippers.

He shuffled away as Hermione sunk gratefully back into the bedclothes with a sigh.

_Perhaps this time I won't be needed_ … she thought, closing her heavy eyes. But, she really hadn't any hope, at all.

The baby stopped wailing, and Hermione could hear Severus moving about the nursery and gently murmuring in a soothing manner. He was presumably changing Augustus' nappie.

She smiled as she remembered the first time she had talked her very reluctant husband into attempting a nappie change. He had been so ridiculously methodical about it. The nappie had to be folded just so, and the pins had to be lined up perfectly. And, all the while, Augustus had watched with his big black eyes, his expression serious, as though he was encouraging his father in the task.

_He certainly is taking his time about it,_ Hermione thought as she fell into a twilight sleep. Her false sense of peace didn't last long, though. Suddenly, she was jarred awake as Severus slid into the bed beside her. Hermione could hear the little sucking and fussing noises their son was making, and she knew what was coming.

"I think he's hungry," Severus murmured, sounding somewhat apologetic.

Hermione, wishing to pretend she wasn't required to be awake for as long as she could, sighed deeply and drug herself into a sitting position before opening her bleary eyes. She wanted to say she was exhausted and just couldn't do it. She wanted to protest that she had to be up in the morning early to prepare for the practical test she was giving to her seventh-year Charms students that day. She wanted to ask whose idea it had been for her to nurse Augustus in the first place, when the practice of bottle-feeding would have allowed for Severus' participation in the night-time feeding schedule.

She knew it was irrational for her to feel this way. But, she was just so TIRED!

"Alright," she groaned and held her arms out to receive the baby.

Warm, gentle fingers grasped her chin and she found herself gazing into the black eyes of her husband—the same black eyes she now saw in their son. "I really am sorry, Hermione," he whispered, his face full of compassion. "I know you are tired. I wish I could do more." Then, he kissed her very softly, and pulled her into the crook of his arm, and up against his side. Hermione felt warmth spread through her, at the realisation that he intended to stay up with her. She almost felt ashamed for being petulant … almost.

She leaned against her husband as she freed her breast and let little Augustus latch comfortably on. He nursed vigorously. "Poor little bloke," she whispered as she gently stroked his warm little cheek with one finger. "He really was hungry."

A low chuckle rumbled from Severus' chest and vibrated against Hermione's back, and she thought about how lucky she really was. After all, she had everything she could possibly want in life … a loving husband, a beautiful baby, and a job she loved.

Yes, here they were two years after the final battle, and the castle was restored to all its former glory, all the teaching staff had been replaced, (Hermione had replaced Professor Flitwick in the Charms position, for his injuries during the final battle had been too debilitating,) and the school was up and running, again. 

Hermione loved staying at the castle. She didn't even mind living in the dungeons as much as she thought she might. Severus had been very gracious about the changes she had made to their quarters … or, at least, gracious for Severus Snape. He had been all raised eyebrows and long suffering sighs, especially when she had insisted on decorating little Augustus' nursery in bright yellows and mint greens. Severus had wanted his son's room to be done in Slytherin green, of course. But, Hermione had put her foot down.

"Severus, such somber colors will give the baby nightmares!" she'd said, her eyes blazing with a protective motherly fire. Severus had grumbled, but, in the end, he'd let her have her way.

Hermione chuckled softly at the memory of Severus reaction to her labor with Augustus. Madam Pomfrey had been bustling about, working her spells and administering her potions, while the father to be had paced and growled and generally made a nuisance of himself. He questioned everything the matron was doing, worried onyx eyes darting about with watchfulness. He had driven Madam Pomfrey to distraction.

"Really, Severus!" she'd finally barked in desperation. "I have delivered babies before, and I am a trained medi-witch. I think I can handle this!" Even in her pain, Hermione had had to smile at the scowl her husband had given her attendant in answer.

Augustus squirmed against his mother, thus drawing her out of her reverie long enough to switch sides. But, as soon as the little man was comfortably nursing again, Hermione let her mind wander to the moment she'd watched Severus hold Augustus for the very first time, just after his birth.

It had been beautiful, and she knew she would never forget it.

It had taken both Hermione's tired pleas and Madam Pomfrey's no-nonsense insistence to persuade Severus to take the baby. The new father had looked terrified to even touch his son, let alone hold him.

"What if I drop him," he'd asked, his face blanching at the thought.

"Of course you won't drop him!" Madam Pomfrey had said, her voice more than a little irritated, as she expertly swaddled Augustus tightly. 

Hermione watched in wonder as the matron instructed Severus on how to cradle his son close to his chest, as she placed Augustus in his arms carefully. Hermione had had to bite back an amused laugh, for her husband looked so tense and awkward, and he held the baby so stiffly.

But, as soon as Severus looked into his son's little red, puckered face, she saw wonderment replace fear. Severus entire countenance changed, so much so that Hermione had gasped and tears had sprung to her eyes. She watched as her normally taciturn husband smiled broadly and cooed—yes, actually cooed to the small, raven-haired, pink bundle in his arms.

"Hello, Augustus," he'd said, his voice impossibly soft, as he started to instinctually rock slowly back and forth. "I am your father. It is nice to finally meet you."

Hermione had fought her exhaustion, wishing to continue watching the scene before her as long as it would play out. But, in rather short order, she felt the sleeping draught Madam Pomfrey had insisted on giving her dragging her under. And she fell into a peaceful slumber to the sounds of Severus loving ministrations to their son.

That had been three months ago. Soon, these late night feedings would stop, if Madam Pomfrey was to be believed. Suddenly, Hermione did not feel put upon, at all, about having to get up for them. Suddenly, it seemed the most wonderful thing in the world to be sitting up in bed, leaning against her precious husband, and feeding her sweet baby boy, even if her tired body was crying out for sleep.

Hermione felt Augustus' little mouth go slack at her breast as he fell back to sleep, so she carefully lifted him to her shoulder and gently patted his back until he burped. She could hear soft breathing behind her, an indication that her husband had fallen back to sleep, as well.

Hermione leaned in and softly kissed her husband. Severus really had tried to stay up with her … and that was what counted.

"Life is good," she murmured, and she kissed her baby's fat little, rosy cheek affectionately. Then, she heaved herself out of bed and took him to his own cot.

Upon her return, she crawled into bed and gently nudged Severus to encourage him to slide down into the mattress.

"Is Augustus done eating?" Severus mumbled, his eyes still closed as he turned his face into the pillow. "Shall I take him back now?"

"I already took him back," Hermione whispered, as she snuggled up close to him, letting him wrap his warm body around her. "Go to sleep, love."

"But, it's my turn," he protested feebly. And, the next moment, both of them were fast asleep.

_finis_


End file.
